


Vipers & Virtues

by tinasnewt



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Fandom, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Dancing and Singing, District 12 (Hunger Games), District 13 (Hunger Games), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Mockingjay, Panem, Panem Capitol Citizens, Partner Betrayal, Politics, Post-Games (Hunger Games), Pre-Hunger Games, Prequel, Singing, Snakes, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, The Capitol (Hunger Games), The Hanging Tree (Hunger Games), references to Jane Eyre, slowburn, the hunger games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinasnewt/pseuds/tinasnewt
Summary: Lucy Gray: a name that slowly faded from the Capitol & district’s minds. Her Games, a secret, her lover, betrayed, her home, unwelcoming. Coriolanus Snow was the last person to have seen her, and he believed her dead.However, the odds were in her favor.
Relationships: Lucy Gray & Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray Baird & Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray Baird & OC, Lucy Gray Baird/Corliolanus Snow, Lucy Gray Baird/OC, Lucy Gray/Coriolanus Snow
Comments: 67
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE: THE DISTRICT**

I lay in the underbrush, my breathing slow as I calm my beating heart. Night has fallen, and I stare up at the stars. They’re hard to see, as a fog has settled, but I spot the Orion constellation easily. It shines bright, and I take it as a symbol of hope from the stars. They’ve always looked out for me, and you’re never lost when they’re around you.. I once believed my destiny was written in them, but Coriolanus is long gone.

_Coriolanus._

His name is poison in my mind. I was so stupid to trust him. The moment he’d told me he was responsible for three deaths, and his avoidance of my question, I pieced it all together. The look on his face at the hanging tree wasn’t grief. It was guilt. Coriolanus had blamed Mayfair and Billy Taupe’s murder on Sejanus, despite killing Mayfair himself. Sejanus just wanted a better life. We all wanted a better life. Sejanus, a district boy… it all made sense. How Coriolanus disliked him, as subtle as he tried to conceal it. He viewed Sejanus as he viewed the rest of us: inhumane. Lesser beings. Savages. If it had been his choice, he would’ve left Sejanus in the Games to die in the hands of Reaper or the snakes. I took it upon myself to thank the stars for the snakes’ behavior toward me, perhaps the one act of kindness Coriolanus provided me. Yet, he may have done it for himself, not for me. I was no stranger to the gifts presented to the mentors. If I won, he received a full scholarship to the Capitol’s university, as well as fame amongst the Capitol. His acts were not out of care for me, they were to ensure his success. While I get nothing, he gets everything.

I can feel my heart pulsating in my arm where one of his rapid-fire shots struck me. I clutch it tightly as blood flows between my fingers. Sticky, red, hot. It reminds me of Reaper’s pile of bodies in the arena. I tremble at the thought. Despite my efforts, memories of the Games will always remain.

It’s been a few hours since Coriolanus fled, so I make myself stand. Whether it be from laying for so long or blood loss, I’m not sure exactly, but my head swims and I lean on the tree next to me for support. My legs tingling, I take one step, then another. A twig snaps under my foot. I flinch, but the only ones listening are the mockingjays above me. I watch one spread its wings and flap away in the direction of District 12, the only home I’ve ever known. This is no time for sentiment, so I continue my journey toward the lake. Thorns prick me, and more than once a branch scrapes me, but I continue on, determined to reach the small shed at the edge of the lake. Coriolanus must’ve fled back to the headquarters. If he reports me, I have to flee, and quickly, but I’m exhausted. I need to tend to my wounds and drink. 

As I clear through the forest, I see a warped glint of light, signifying the lake is nearby. I let out a jovial cry, panting as I continue through the bushes. Twigs snap and trees rustle, but I don’t care. The dirt beneath me gets slicker, and I catch myself half-running toward the water. Exhaustion, heat, and dehydration catch up to me, and I slide down the rest of the way, mud caking my legs as I submerge myself into the fresh, cool water. Shaking, I put my hands together and splash water on my face, letting the dirt trail off in little streams. I scoop water into my mouth, rejoicing in the freshness and how it soothes my aching throat. My arm angrily jabs in pain, reminding me of my wounds, and I slow my motions. On the shore, I find a large leaf and ball it up before wetting it. I bring myself to a shallower end, sitting upright as I assess my body. My legs are riddled with scratches and dirt, though those are the least of my worries. My left arm is caked in blood, the gunshot aching. The pressure I’ve applied to it helped a great deal, but if I don’t treat it soon, it could become infected. My best bet would be to fashion a tourniquet, but I don’t have any spare fabric on me. Unless Coriolanus left his scarf near the trap.

Begrudgingly, I stand up, despite my aching loins. I walk out of the sopping mud, my legs once again covered by the thick soil. I continued uphill, retracing my steps, carefully this time. For all I know, the snake, albeit it’s limited danger, could still be around. Soon, I spot it, the small patch of orange that was his scarf. It had been trampled on, made obvious by the dirt stains and rumpled effect of it, but I hunch over and reach my left hand out to it, right hand still gripping my arm, and-

The snake returns, jumping at me in a flash. I recoil quickly, stumbling back a few steps. He seems to be guarding the scarf, circling around it while he hisses at me. His tongue darts out to me and I look from side to side, trying to figure out which angle to take it from. Sure, he isn’t poisonous, but a snakebite on top of a gunshot wound? It increases the chances of infection, and in the woods, an infection could be a death sentence. Cautiously, I take another step back, watching his movements. Considering I set the trap with him and the scarf, any attachment was my fault. How ironic. Strange, though, how it protected something it was used to. It reminded me of the muttations that were dropped in the arena, how they protected me. The scarf smelled like Coriolanus, and it’d struck Coriolanus. It must have a connection with him.

No. I shook my head. This wasn’t a mutt, it was a real creature, formed biologically, not in a lab. It needed a distraction, not a forged connection. I still myself, creeping down as slowly as I can, my legs barely touching the twig-filled ground. The snake recoiled, sticking its tongue out as it slowly backed away, eyes trained on me. I still, looking slightly to the left for anything I can use. All I can see is thick weeds and thorns, overgrown tree roots and puddles from the rain that haven't dried completely. I lean slightly, adjusting my weight so as to not make a sound. It’s a very awkward position, my right hand grasping my arm, dried blood caked and sticky between my fingers, my entire body wobbling on its left side, my left and extended outward. It doesn’t help that I’m in a dress. My eyes remain on the snake, who has completely retreated in its own circle on top of the scarf. I lower my hand, wincing as I get pricked by a thorn, but make no noise. My hand continues to lower until I touch soggy ground and drag it around. Soon, my fingers land on something smooth and solid, and I grab it. Or, at least, attempt to. Half of it is lodged in the thick mud, and in this position, with my weakened arm, it's nearly impossible. I bring my nails to the side, thankful for the lack of clippers in my old home, and begin to rake at the side of the mud. It's grueling work, but after a few minutes I have one side completely dislodged. I wipe my fingers, slippery with mud, on my dress, and dislodge the rock. Due to the force, my arm shoots up quickly and sends a bit of dirt toward the snake. I flinch, but it doesn’t budge. 

I groan quietly as I stand up, my muscles protesting. I need to get rest, and quickly. If I can’t get that scarf, it's hopeless. The chance of getting an infection is low, but a risk is a risk. I raise my arm as high as I can without pain, which isn’t very high, and throw the rock. It makes a loud thump, causing the snake to jump and bolt after it. In my haste to grab the scarf, I fall to my knees and blindly reach around for the scarf. I grab hold of it before slipping straight on my face with a grunt, loud enough to divert the snake’s attention. It slithers back toward, fangs outstretched. I turn away, and suddenly I’m slipping. Down, down I go, running into twigs, bushes, and thorns, scraping and scratching everywhere. I stop with a thump against a particularly large tree root, gathering my bearings. I still have the scarf, a bright orange in the moonlight, and climb over the tree root. I can no longer see the snake, and the lake is only a few yards away. I sigh in relief once more, grabbing hold of a few sticks as I continue to the water. I waste no time in getting in, submerging myself fully before swimming to the shore nearest the shed. My stomach grumbles, my cuts sting, my arm screams in pain, everything hurts. Exhaustion tries to take over, but for my own survival, I must keep going. I manage to clean off my scrapes with a single hand, and then remove the pressure. I almost vomit at the sight of my arm, all bloody and holy, but I take to cleaning it, ignoring the stinging, before assessing the damage.

It was a clean shot, but the bullet didn’t go all the way through. There is no way for me to remove it, so I have to hope for the best. Whatever “the best” is. I gulp down some water, before using the sticks and scarf to fashion a tourniquet. It’s nowhere near perfect, and quite messy, but the best I can do. I drink some more water and properly rinse the dirt out of my hair before rising and heading toward the shed. I shiver a bit, and look to the sky. It’s about midnight now. If Coriolanus were to alert the other Peacekeepers, wouldn’t they have come by now? Or was he waiting until the morning? Either way, I have to rest up to keep myself moving by sunrise.

Only the embers of the fire I’d started hours ago remained, and the stench of burnt fish filled the room. Of course, Coriolanus had burnt the food. The satchel containing the guns that killed Billy Taupe and Mayfair was missing, too. Not that I care. Those weapons held the truth about their murders; It wasn’t Sejanus, it was Coriolanus who’d killed them. Rightfully so, but Sejanus had hung because of Coriolanus’ lies. You cannot come back from that. 

I assess what’s left: my metal can, some matches, the dry wood, a few packages of cracked nuts, courtesy of Maude Ivory, a bottle of water, and our fishing hooks. I displaced my knife somewhere near the katniss roots, but my hunt for it will begin tomorrow morning. I pile a few sacks on top of each other as a makeshift pillow, chew on a few tasteless nuts, and allow myself to drift to sleep. 

_Are you, are you_

Coriolanus’ strong voice rings in my ears. I can hear him, but I can’t see him. I can’t see anything. My eyes are covered, and stiff hands lead me down a gravel path. Someone is walking beside me, their feet dragging, and I can hear murmurs all around. I stumble on something large, but the hand pulls me back up and growls “Keep moving.”

_Coming to the tree_

Blindly, I do. My only guide is the person behind me, who walks straight up, as if he has a purpose. The murmurs become louder, and the ground becomes bumpier as we continue our journey. When my foot knocks on wood, we halt to a stop.

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?_

The sack is removed from my head, and I gaze up at the hanging tree. My mouth opens in terror, and I see the hand on my shoulder is that of a Peacekeeper’s. I look to my side, and my partner is Maude Ivory. “Maude Ivory?” I hiss, my heart beating wildly. I look around me, seeing the dusty, lined faces of the people of my district. They're sad and watch me, distraught. The sun beats down on me, and I begin to sweat. Despite my best efforts, my heart beats wildly, though I try not to show my panic. I won't let them see me in this state. “What’s happening?”

_Strange things did happen here_

Tears streak through her dirt-covered face. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers, lips trembling. She heaves, and a loud sob comes out. I shush her before a loud stomp grabs my attention, and I look up the platform. Two nooses, as customary, are tied to branches above trap doors. It only takes me a moment to register that they’re for us. My jaw drops, and I look to Maude in horror, who is stuck on a silent sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobs, before our Peacekeepers lead us up the stairs of the platform. I’m trembling, but I keep a straight face. I remember something Coriolanus said to me once, in one of our private meetings before the games. _Never let them see you bleed._ I steady myself, climbing the stairs on my own accord. But, what's happening? Why is Maude Ivory apologizing? What's happened here? Who found me? Coriolanus' voice continues to ring throughout the crowd, its owner somewhere in the shadows.

_No stranger would it be_

I step on the trapdoor as Maude Ivory’s Peacekeeper pushes her on hers before straightening her back. We stand tall, facing members of our district. Maude Ivory is hyperventilating, and I look at her, pressing my finger to my mouth. It’s the only solace I can give her. There is no comfort: this is how the Covey’s end. I spot our friends in the crowd, and they present grim faces.

Someone clears their throat behind us and begins to speak. “On this day, we bring you the faces of two traitors: Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray Baird. They have betrayed the Capitol, therefore all of Panem, and are charged for the murders of Billy Taupe and Mayfair Lipp. The weapons found in this satchel-” I assume the speaker holds up a satchel- “are confirmed to be those that caused the death of the mourned. Near the weapons we found Lucy Gray Baird, asleep in a shed, and upon the search of her home found Miss Maude Ivory, both popular members of the Covey. The hunt for the rest continues.”

Murder? Treason? We’d done nothing. Maude Ivory, out of the two of us, was most innocent. She discovered the bodies, I was merely a witness to their murders! I’d never even touched the weapons, where was the proof I’d touched them? Why wasn’t Coriolanus standing up for me? Surely, Sejanus had already been hung, had they not put the case to rest? Spruce was dead as well, so was Lils. Everyone connected was dead. Except Coriolanus. Something he said to me pinged. Snow lands on top.

No matter what, the blood on his hands would be placed on someone else. Who else died at his expense? First Bobbin, then Mayfair, then Sejanus… who else? Maude Ivory? Me? The rest of the Coveys? What was his plan, to kill off everyone in District 12? Become Head Peacekeeper? There was no prize in that. Then, I remember how he hoped to become a national hero. To return to the Capitol, a place he spoke so fondly of.

His selfishness got the best of him. He’d blamed me, said I framed him and Sejanus, to save himself. Coriolanus shows no mercy. Snow lands on top.

Someone stepped beside me, slipping the noose over my head. I swallow, looking straight ahead. I would be avenged. A hand brushes against my skin as the noose slips over me, a hand that I know all too well. “Coriolanus,” I say under my breath, no kindness in my voice. I can sense his smile next to me.

“Lucy Gray,” He murmurs, almost mocking me. “How shocked I was, learning of your involvement in the deaths of these poor citizens.” Now, he was. I flare my nostrils, continuing to look ahead. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting my eye.

“You’ll pay for this,” I growl, my voice harsh. He merely chuckles before whispering his mantra in my ear.

“Snow lands on top.”

I can tell he goes to the trap door, to open it, to conduct the execution. Quietly, I hear him.

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

Before he opens it, I hear the mockingjays begin to sing. It gives me satisfaction, and I smile before the trap door is opened beneath me.

I wake up in a cold sweat, grasping at my throat. I breathe heavily, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight spills in through the lone windows, and I gather my bearings. Slowly, I remove the satchel from under my head, and begin to fill it with my few supplies. For good measure, I take all but two dry logs. I remove all traces of myself, leaving everything the way it was, spare the missing logs. If the Coveys came looking for me, they’d know I was long gone. I step out of the shed silently, rubbing my eyes as I adjust to the sunlight. The sun is still rising, and I couldn’t have gotten more than six hours of sleep, but the more distance between me and District 12, the better. I drink from the lake and refill my water bottle, then set off to find the katniss roots. Sure enough, my knife lay abandoned, a few uprooted katniss roots surrounding it. I grab a few more and store them for good measure. I return to the shed, sure to cover my tracks, and begin to follow the lake. I wade knee-height in it to hide my tracks, while also keeping note of any fish that swim by. The sun bears down on me, proving it will be a hot day. I’m thankful I have the lake near me. After putting an hour between me and the shed, I begin to hum the tune about Clementine. It's a sad song, really. Soon, a mockingjay picks up, and the forest lightens up with my song. They tell me that I’m not really alone. 

Another few miles down, I find a fallen tree on the side of the lake and allow myself to rest. I sit back, basking in the sunlight as I assess my wound. The gunshot still aches, and the skin I can see is a bright red. I remove the makeshift tourniquet and wash my skin again, trying not to grimace at how awful it appears. I fasten it with new sticks, bathing my feet in the water. It’s shaded here, and I watch a small bunny hop behind me. She pauses, staring at me as her nose quivers. I watch her deep, black eyes widen. The cloud moves and the sun shines down upon her as she goes back on all fours. How beautiful, a wild animal, free from the horrors of the world. She’d probably never encountered a human. Probably never again. The flowers blooming behind her created a perfect image, and if I were a skilled painter, I’d have painted the scene before me in a heartbeat. I feel a pang in my stomach. Despite my hunger, I let her roam free. She didn’t choose her life, who am I to dictate hers? I don’t need any more blood on my hands, human or animal. She hops away, heading east through the foliage. I watch her go.

I will not end up like Coriolanus. I refuse.

Despite that reasoning, after ten moments of rest I begin to fish. I catch some easily, quickly ending their misery with my knife and eating one raw. It’s gross, and a bit demeaning, but anything to keep myself alive and healthy. I store the remaining two in a spare satchel before standing and continuing to wade down the path. The forest grows thicker, and soon I’m stuck with no shore, just deep water surrounded by thick bushes and overgrown trees. Nobody has stepped foot here in years, maybe decades. I would eventually have to swim to keep going, and that’s not good if I end up in a storm. I turn around and walk the mile back to where I saw the bunny. All is still, and just as I left it. I sit down against the log again and drink, before rising and heading east, toward the bunny. Perhaps she was my savior. I bend under low branches and navigate through thorns, the lake behind me. There are still puddles around me, and it rains often. If I run out of water, I’ll be able to follow my tracks back to the lake. I continue my trek until nightfall with no incident, sweating profusely. There are many miles between not just me and the lake, but me and District 12. The further I go from there, the closer to freedom, to the north. I’ve traveled east for some time now, but I can continue north whenever I please. Anywhere that isn’t Capitol is good to me.

There’s a large willow tree a few yards away from me, and I cross over to it easily. Slinging my satchel over my back, I begin to scale the tree, climbing until the vines conceal me and I find a sturdy branch to lay on. It isn’t the comfiest, but if I fall I’ll have a soft landing. Not that I plan on falling. 

For the first time in my life, I peacefully lull off to sleep without danger of being discovered.


	2. Chapter 2

I watch as the sun rises, perched on my branch as I munch on a few nuts. The Coveys must be searching for me now, but they’ll make it with the money I left them and the subtle message at the shed. The missing wood will tell them I’ve gone. Maybe one day we’ll reunite, though pondering that is futile. I may get lonely, but there are mockingjays all over the forest. They’re my best audience.

The sun streaks brilliant pinks, oranges, and yellows across the sky, something you could never see in the soot-filled streets. The most beauty you saw in District 12 was the blooming in the meadow during the spring, primroses and daisies slowly budding. The Coveys and I would always collect them and deliver them to the small children, performing free concerts for them in the Seam. Springtime brought joy, while the summer brought terror. Scared you, your family, or your friends would get reaped, and that you’d never see them again, not even a glimpse on a broken television. It was heartbreaking. I was a miracle in 12, but the Hunger Games were nothing to celebrate for. I stayed an outcast, living in the Seam, my only use being performing in the Hob. You got nothing for winning the Games. I know nightmares will someday plague me, but everything in life has been happening so quickly, I’ve no time to process everything. 

Coming back from the Capitol, Maude Ivory said something that made my skin crawl. After a brief discussion of the games, she’d said “You sound just like them.” Them, being Capitol citizens. In the weeks being probed and watched by the Capitol, their ridiculous accent, especially Coriolanus’, had imprinted on me. My heart twinged at the thought of him, but I pushed down the memories. Now is not the time for emotion. I can grieve when I’m safe, for now, I have to keep moving. After hearing Maude Ivory’s words, I frequently visited the Hob, trying desperately to lose the Capitol tongue. I am not a product of them, I’m a girl from District 12. I thank the stars that most people were busy working and didn’t have access to a TV. In the Capitol, I am a Victor, in the district, I am one of the Covey, a Saturday night entertainment, someone drunk men can sing with and speak slurred words to. I would rather be that Lucy Gray, but that’s not who I am anymore. I am Lucy Gray, wanderer of the forest. My only friends are the mockingjays, my only enemies are the sly creatures that roam at night. I don’t consider Coriolanus an enemy. He is merely a pathetic, selfish boy. My mentor turned lover turned… assailant. He did what he had to do to survive. It’s like a game. Our own personal Hunger Games. Like the arena, we’re allies, then we’re not. Once it gets down to the final two, we turn on each other for the final show, a battle to see who gets the ultimate prize: a life of freedom. His prize, a life of riches in the Capitol. Safety from the blame of Sejanus’ death. My prize, a life with my lover, free from Panem’s rule. He won these Games. Now, we’re even. He was my mentor in the arena; I was his mentor in the forest. I helped him, and he betrayed me. Though I didn’t betray him, not explicitly, his actions resurfaced, to haunt him. What he did to protect me in the arena, the handkerchief, the compact, the rat poison, all of it resulted in his sentencing as a Peacekeeper. His life in the Capitol was over. That was my betrayal toward him. We mirror each other. Perhaps, one day, he’ll come to see that. Arrogance, however, is his most dangerous flaw. He can’t see the faults in his actions. Only the consequences that benefit him.

My disappearance will be blamed on something else. Maybe people will say I was so distraught over Billy Taupe’s death that I escaped, or some will conspire that the mayor finally got me. His hatred for me was public knowledge. Either way, I am dead in District 12. 

I shake my head and climb down the tree, snapping off a few vines for good measure. If I ever need a rope, they’ll come in handy. North, the sunlight shines through the leaves of the trees, illuminating the ground. Although the ground is covered in weeds, there is a somewhat straight path, twigs and clumps of dirt all around. I brush a branch away from my face, fasten the satchel to my back, and continue my journey.

In the early morning, I hear birds chirping, and even a woodpecker on a nearby oak tree. After an hour, I spot another group of bunnies, a mother and her children this time. I crouch down, getting on my hands and knees so as to not scare them away. I can tell this is their home, and to displace them would be unkind. Even deadly, given the animals that lurk around at night. One of the babies chews on a plant, and upon further inspection I recognize it as a katniss root, meaning the lake is not far off from here. It must curve somewhere, providing not only water, but a solid path. I am now stepping through bushes again, bugs covering my legs as I swat at them. I’m not worried about mosquito bites, but they are a nuisance when traveling, especially when irritated. I continue along after the bunnies hop away. 

The sun is hot, and it beats down on me. The middle of August was always painful in the district. I’m sweating buckets, and I feel as if I need to lie down when I hear the slow, steady trickle of water. The lake! My steps quicken, and I push through foliage and greenery until I reach a pile of rocks, the lake flowing right behind them. The water moves rapidly, curving, just as I thought it did. There are katniss plants around me, and I take my time picking them and storing them. Every last one. I won’t stay here long, so any food I can salvage is a treat. I allow myself to eat a few, even indulging in a few of my nuts. I refill my bottle and douse my head in water, effectively cooling myself down. Something slimy brushes against my leg, and I gasp. Upon further inspection, I realize it's a fish. There are multiple swimming down the stream. I scramble up the rocks, grabbing the fishing hook out of my satchel, and position myself on a rock near the highest point of the water. I’ve still got two fish from yesterday, but again, any food is good food. I hook the rod and cast it into the water, the sun beating down on me once more. I can tell my skin is going to burn, but as long as I stay in the shade and wade in the water, they should be too bad. The stream runs too fast, and I’m unable to catch any fish. I refill my bottle once more and continue along the path of the lake. On the shore, there is less foliage, in fact for the most part only mud surrounds the area. The trees provide a thick barrier though, so I walk among them, keeping a close eye on the water. I’m hoping to find another tree I can rest in, though it's only noon. I’ve got eight hours until sundown, so there’s much track I’ve yet to cover. 

The rest of the day is uneventful. Around five, telling by the sun’s position, I come across a large oak tree that I can easily scale. It’s a little ways away from the lake, but if I’m high enough I’ll still be able to see it. I decide to set up camp, finding a large branch in a bush and dragging it to the trunk of the oak tree. I use it as a makeshift bench, covering the top in leaves. Scavenging for logs has become my next task, and I search around the forest for a bit before I return to my base with an armful of dry sticks. My satchel is becoming a bit full, but I have another stored at the bottom. There are a few dandelion weeds near me, and I pick them, tasting one. It doesn’t taste the greatest, but I pick the rest anyway. In the event I’m unable to find food, I have to have enough to last me awhile. I sit on my log and rest my head against the tree trunk. Today has been eventful, and I’m exhausted. I wish I could speak to someone.

In this moment, I realize how completely, utterly alone I am. District 12 is many miles behind me, and I don’t even know if I’d be able to find my way back. By now, the Coveys will have realized I’m missing and filed a report with the Peacekeepers. Coriolanus has lied and said he has no idea where I could be, despite knowing I am lost deep in the forest, nowhere near anything or anyone. I’ve not a friend in the world. At this moment, I think of Jessup, my one and only ally. He was so sick in the tunnel, and I feared he would die of a fever before the foam started to appear. Jessup looked so afraid, as if he knew what was happening, before going absolutely rabid. I’ve never ran faster in my life. After he died, I was alone again. Except I wasn’t, because Coriolanus was looking after me. Not looking after me, but protecting himself. In that moment, though, I thought we were in it together, and that my victory would grant us the freedom to love each other for the rest of our lives. My eyes well up with tears, and I swat them away before an all-consuming grief washes over me. 

Fine. I will allow myself this singular moment of vulnerability.

So I do. I cry, sobs shaking my body as I feel my heart break. There is nothing like this. To experience love within something so horrible, and then to lose it, to find out it was artificial, created like one of the mutations in the Capitol, used only to benefit them while hurting their subjects, is a tragedy. My body feels heavy, like a dark curtain has been placed over it, and I weep. I know I’m scaring the few animals and birds away, but a lone mockingjay is perched on the tree in front of me, gazing down inquisitively. It begins to chirp musically, and I realize it's mimicking my cries. It has turned my sadness into a song, creating a melody that reflects my mourning. Another mockingjay joins in, then another. Soon, the forest is alive with my song, a ballad of betrayal. It’s comforting, reminding me that although I may physically be alone, I am connected to the mockingjays. Not Capitol, not district. I am something entirely different, much like they are. We are both products of failed Capitol experiments. 

It is known that the Hunger Games are the Capitol’s way of continuing the war. They’ve rendered the districts powerless, supplying Peacekeepers and punishments to those who don’t comply. We are forced to watch our friends die in an arena, allies against allies. The districts are pitted against each other to create a distinct line between us all, to assure we don’t form a union of our own. This won’t last forever, though, as there are already rebels infiltrating the districts. Before his murder, Billy Taupe planned on rescuing Lil and escaping North, much like I’ve done. It wasn’t just the two of them, though. It was dozens of miners, women, and children who sought freedom from the Capitol’s wrath. That plan is wasted, but I am the lone proof that an escape is possible. Coriolanus’ lies may have been my savior. If he’d told the truth, the peacekeepers would know about our plans, and entrap the district even further.

The sun has begun to set, and I need to eat I remove a few of the logs from my satchel and a match, expertly lighting a fire. I wish I had a lot of coal, but I only have three lumps. I put one in the fire, saving the rest for later. Soon, it provides the only light for me. Crickets chirp around me as I roast a fish over the fire, eating it whole once it’s cooked thoroughly. Picking a bone out of my teeth, I take a swig of water and throw the satchel over my back. Extinguishing the fire takes no time at all, and I’m able to salvage a small bit of the coal. It stings into my hand, but I don’t mind.

Scaling the tree in the dark is harder than I thought it would be, but I manage after a few moments of groping around and almost falling. I find myself high on a branch, and I’m grateful I snapped the sturdy vines off the willow tree. Wrapping one around myself, I look west and see the moon glinting in the lake. Perfect, I’ve got a clear view of my surroundings. North is more foliage, as is every other direction. My journey must continue. I settle against the trunk of the tree, staring at the stars. I locate Orion and smile. “Hello, again,” I say quietly, and realize they’re the first words I’ve said in a very long time. The stars are friends of mine, and their presence is welcomed. As if responding to me, a star glints. I sigh before dozing off again.

By morning, my limbs are stiff and I make my way down the tree. All this travel is tedious, and my body aches. I’ve not had proper rest in awhile. On the shore, I fish for a while, and catch a fish. Great. Now I have two again. I collect a few more logs and decide to continue my journey by wading in the water. It is cold, and it flows faster than I’m used to, but I stay in the shallow end, waist-deep. My dress flutters about under me, and I wish I’d worn clothing better suited for the journey. Nevertheless, I persist. 

I’m able to catch a few more fish with my bare hands and pick some katniss roots. In the eyes of District 12, I’ve been very lucky. Starvation is common in the Seam, and I should be weak, on the brink of death. I guess the odds are in my favor.

I bathe, clearing my body of all dirt and checking my arm. It is less sore now, though the skin is red. I think I’ve managed to protect myself from infection. The food and water definitely helped. Hopefully, wherever I end up has a medic and can go about removing the bullet from my arm. I don’t want it to remain any longer than it has to.

I refasten the tourniquet and continue my journey. The rocks have cleared again, and my surroundings are straight woods. I wonder how far from District 12 I am. I’ve been traveling for three days, so unless someone is willing to make this hunt, I’m safe. Hopefully, I will run into a compound soon. These woods won’t extend forever.

As if reading my thoughts, an hour later, I see the end of the lake. Its shore is muddy, and part of me is relieved. The other part, worried. How am I to continue if there’s no infinite water source? I reach the shore and walk out, my dress sopping wet and dripping every step I take. I remove my satchel at the front of a tree and realize how far North I’ve traveled. The sun is cooler here, the sweltering heat of District 12 behind me. The ground is also sloped, more hilly than what I’m used to. I walk around for a bit, observing the atmosphere. The trees are the same, though different weeds grow. I can’t locate any katniss roots. Well, that’ll be alright, as I still have some nuts from Maude Ivory. I drink from the lake, then gather my belongings. Perhaps this is a sign that I should rest for a few days, as opposed to continuing my movement. Not that I’m complaining.

The warm breeze feels nice on my skin, though my tourniquet is rather uncomfortable. I’m not sure how long I have to have it on, but I’ll keep it until I can properly handle the wound. For now, I rest. I bury my aching feet in the mud, no longer caring about the mess it creates. I am a dweller of the trees, and nature is my sanctuary. It reminds me of a book I read in school, Jane Eyre, before they banned it. Said it caused “independent thinking,” which, at the time, I didn’t see as a bad thing. To the Capitol, independence meant rebellion. Rebellion meant war. War was their loss of control, and no one dared take away the Capitol’s control. When Jane left her lover, Rochester, who had lied to her, she was under the mercy of nature for a long while. Of course, the novel ends happily, with Jane reuniting with Rochester, a tale I won’t get to live. If I did, I’d be in the Capitol’s hands, and from there, I’d be charged with rebellion. Treason, even. My nightmare couldn’t reign true.

After a while, I begin to hum to test if any mockingjays are around. As always, they are. They follow me. Or, in their perspective, I follow them. They hum with me, a melody I’ve yet to find the words to. It’ll come to me someday. It’s a solemn tune, though there’s a piece that sounds joyful. Maybe I’ll write the song about my journey, of how betrayal may plague me, but my future awaits me nonetheless.

I continue to hum, the birds mimicking me as I twiddle with dandelions I found in the bushes behind me and chew a few nuts. I’ve finished the first bag, so I have to go looking for berries or edible plants tomorrow. It is only late in the afternoon, but I plan on spending the whole day resting to give my body a well-deserved break. I am safe out here, and there’s no one for miles. The only thing I have to fear is a random creature coming up to me, and even the possibility of that is low. The mockingjays sing louder than ever before reaching their final crescendo. The grand finale to our song. I sing, quieter this time, beginning a new tune. The beginnings of the Valley song provide a soft, comforting melody in this muddy area. The mockingjays continue with me until everything falls silent.

That’s strange. Mockingjays don’t fall silent, not unless danger is present. I look around, and there are no creatures around, no threats to be seen anywhere. Maybe they’ve sung so loud they can’t hear my melody. I hum louder, trying to gain their attention, but everything stays completely still. Perplexed, I begin to stand up.

That’s when I see the hovercraft.


	3. Chapter 3

In my life, I’ve only seen a few hovercrafts, and the effect they have on you is instantaneous. Everything falls still, even the birds stop singing. I am not as safe as I thought I was.

They aren’t searching for you, I tell myself, but I’m not convinced. I back up into the forests, concealing myself under the thick roof of leaves and branches. I can just make out the hovercraft, noting that it's heading east. How strange, I think. It is nothing like the Capitol hovercrafts. It's darker, less modern. As if the technology used for it wasn’t as advanced. The districts don’t have hovercrafts, they’re too expensive to keep up, so why would it look like this? Against my better judgment, I begin to climb the tree, hoping to get a closer look. Luckily, this hovercraft is slower than most, so by the time I can get a clearer view, it’s still within my eyeshot. 

Missing from the bottom is the Capitol symbol that adorns all of their materials. Instead, a symbol I don’t recognize is there. 

Could this be from the North? My heart skips a beat. Despite that, the hovercraft flies east. Maybe they were from the north, and I’d traveled so far I have to continue my journey east to their base. It’d have to be well hidden, so it would make sense for them to have a different symbol and less advanced technology, but why would they use a hovercraft? Isn’t that too risky? I debate that they’ve allied with a district, but even then, the chances of being discovered are too high. Peacekeepers oversee all travel, and they’d definitely notice a hovercraft arriving. Unless this one is traveling from another rebel base. That was likely the case. I must have traveled more than I thought.

I decide to sit against the branches after the hovercraft flies out of eyeshot, and thank the stars for my limited mathematical skills.

If I’ve traveled for twenty-four hours total, which I have, give or take a few, and it takes the average person to walk a mile in fifteen minutes, that means I’ve traveled four miles per hour. This doesn’t seem too far off, given the lake was about eight miles from the meadow. That means, in the last three days, I’ve traveled almost one hundred miles from District 12. I let that sink in for a moment. Nobody has ever made this journey before and made it back. My best shot at finding the rebel base is following the hovercraft East. 

It could be a trick. That’s something I have to keep in mind. The Capitol has spies; why wouldn’t they fly over the woods, trying to capture escaped citizens? Maybe that’s where avoxes come from. It is known that rebels, once caught, are shipped to the Capitol and have their tongues cut off. I grimace at the thought. Escaping is rebelling. I could plead insanity, say I had to escape the screams of the tributes, citing that they plague me in the district. They couldn’t punish me then.

I shake my head again, this type of thinking won’t do. If I’m to successfully find the rebels, every lead must be followed, every path taken, every idea acted upon. 

With that, I jump out of the branch and onto the forest floor. I land in a pile of weeds, scraping my leg on a stick, but I don’t care anymore. I’ve got to get moving again. Judging by the sun, it's only around four in the afternoon, so I’ve got a few hours left to continue my journey. I gather up all my items and refill the water bottle. I bathe myself a final time, removing twigs and leaves from my hair, scrubbing extra carefully on my arms and legs, and making sure to drink as much water as I can. 

I begin to head East, in the direction of the hovercraft. It’s long gone, but the further I get, the more ground I’ve covered. All I have to worry about is running out of water. Food is easily attainable, considering I still have my knife and am pretty decent at hunting down animals. Plus, I still have a few fish and roots.

I will be fine, I remind myself. I’ve been through worse. I survived the Hunger Games, a journey through the woods is nothing in comparison.

Despite my reassurance, my mind wanders to Coriolanus. I hope he’s okay. My heart aches for him, even though it shouldn’t. The last few days, I clouded my betrayal, and, perhaps, heartbreak, with hatred. 

I shouldn’t dwell on him, that I know. It will only drive the knife further. That, and the thought of him makes my arm ache, which sends me into another spiral. All of these worries, while I’m trying to reach the safe haven, aren’t necessary. They just impede on my path. 

Of course, I have a habit of not listening to orders. Even the ones I give myself.

A life with Coriolanus would be so grand. We’d have our own home, forged in the forest. I don’t think we’d have made it this far: Instead, settling somewhere near the bank I’d rested at before seeing the hovercraft. We would use sticks and logs to build a makeshift home, using leaves and string forged from willow trees to create a roof. Maybe we’d even put multiple rooms in our home, lest we had children in the forest. We would fish in the mornings, bathe in the sunlight at high noon, and tell stories at dinner. In the evenings, under the stars, we would sit around a fire and sing songs long forgotten in District 12. As time moved forward, we would forget about our past lives: District 12, the Games, and the Capitol. They’d be a distant memory; new memories created in this life of bliss. Mockingjays would be our friends, and Coryo would grow to love them as I do. We could travel all around the forest, discovering new herbs and animals, munching on katniss roots and whatever else we could find. I imagine that one day, while scavenging for food, Coryo stumbles upon nightlock and I’d teach him about good and bad berries. Growing up in 12, you don’t realize others aren’t always knowledgeable about different types of food. I assume it would be difficult at first for him to get used to and accept this sort of life, but he’d be with me, so it wouldn’t matter. We would live in peace and harmony together. Our lives would, essentially, merge into one. We would get married on a beautiful summer day, just by ourselves. We wouldn’t be able to make bread, obviously, but I’m sure we could forge something for the toasting. Then, a while after, we would have children. They would be beautiful: they’d get his golden hair, my eyes, and both of our talents combined. One would be incredibly smart, like him, and one would be courageous, like me. Our family would be beautiful. We would raise them with our stories, and they wouldn’t know a world with the Hunger Games or districts or the Capitol. They’d only know us. And, in the event we grew tired of this life, we could continue our journey until we did find the North, or a place like it. Our lives would be ours. In the districts, our lives were never ours. The Capitol owns us. 

We wouldn’t be products of the Capitol, and that is what inspired me the most. 

I didn’t realize how long I’d been trapped in my thoughts. The sun is beginning to set, though a haze has settled among the trees and myself, making it hard to see the colors of the sky. Odd, there’s no water around, and it hasn’t rained. Fog is unusual. I shrug it off, though, as I’m not the most skilled in weather sciences and am probably getting worked up over nothing. Again.

Things get stranger, though, as I move forward. Something seems off. I hear something run near me, and I flinch. It’s only a squirrel, so I laugh it off. Who knew something as small as a squirrel was going to scare me, even though I’d encountered a snake and been shot just a few days prior. I debate hunting the squirrel for a moment, blindly following its path, before something odd strikes me. He doesn’t look normal. In fact, as I creep closer, I realize he has three eyes. I jump back. A squirrel with three eyes?

There must be a source of water here, tainted. Unless this was a genetic defect. But, in all my science courses, I never learned about a genetic disorder causing an extra eye, and certainly not in animals. How odd. 

Out of curiosity, I continue to follow the squirrel. The land grows barer and easier to walk through as I follow its path. The fog, however, grows thicker. The squirrel continues to scurry along, knowing his way around the foliage. His running is odd, though I’m not much of an animal person, so it may just be a different way squirrels choose to move. Everything about him is strange. He’s like us district people in the Capitol. Odd and fascinating. Being used, even. I’m using this squirrel to find my way, and even then I’m not sure if he’s leading me down the right path. I hope so.

I realize that I put the same amount of trust into this squirrel that I put into Coriolanus. Damn, why is he always crossing my thoughts?

In the distance, I see a clearing through the barren trees. There are no traces of green beyond it, only what seems to be rocks and rubble. Perhaps this the North? Could this really be it? I can’t believe a squirrel led me to my sanctuary. My pace quickens, and, out of excitement, I lose my bearings. I trip over something and fall face-first onto the ground.

My head scrapes on something metal, and I groan at the sting. The ground is barren and white, and the leaves crumble under my hands where I grab them, my movements stopped by a cold force. I push myself up, detangling a leaf out of my hair as my vision returns to me, head spinning. Then the realization hits me: I fell on something METAL. I look down, and see I’ve fallen on a chain link fence. The only thing a fence could cover… This is it. This is the North! I stand up, dusting my dress off, and stare into the clearing. The fog is thicker there. It must be some sort of protective device. They’ve done a good job of disguising themselves too. Maybe the squirrel was a mutt they generated to scare predators and visitors away. But not me. Nothing scares Lucy Gray.

Well, yes, some things do, but that’s besides the point

I continue to walk through the thick fog, when a familiar smell fills my nostrils. It makes my nose twitch and eyes burn. Normal fog doesn’t do this, and it definitely doesn’t have a smell. This isn’t fog. It’s smoke.

I stop in my tracks and listen for the sounds of a fire. There are none, and I can’t see any fire burning. How odd. Smoke, but no fire? Not even a trace of it? That doesn’t make any sense. My instincts tell me to keep going further. Maybe, just maybe, this is another setup by Northerners to keep intruders afar. Of course, I can see through that. Why would they choose this? It’s strange they’d use this as a device as opposed to anything else. Plus, I never heard anything about smoke when it came to the North. But again, no one ever survived to tell the tale. Our ideas of the North ran on rumors, stories told by men who lived and fought through the rebellion. Nevertheless, I continue walking. 

Maybe this isn’t the best decision. The smoke is thick, but it doesn’t get any thicker than this. It stays the same. It’s as if the ground is radiating smoke, not a fire. The odds are more in my favor if that’s the case. Even so, the ground grows more bare and I’m now stepping over rocks and rubble, not leaves. The forest is right behind me, and I realize I’ve entered an entirely different terrain. There are only rocks for me to stumble over; no more fallen trees to trip on or thorns to scratch my bare legs, which are covered in scratches. They sting a bit, but I pay them no mind. It is the growing aching of my arm that bothers me most. I choose to ignore it. An infection, and caring for one, is something I can address later. If I’m able to treat it at all. Nothing bad can happen. Well, unless it has to be amputated or an infection does occur, spreads to my heart, and causes me to die. However, if I don’t find refuge, maybe that isn’t a terrible thing. Just long, gruesome, and a hell of a way to go out. Maybe the Games were sent to protect me from that.

The smoke is almost overbearing, and there are no creatures here. Not even birds. Nothing here but smog and rubble. I continue forward, and I realize I’ve entered what seems to be an old city. An old, burned down city. This must be where the smoke is coming from. There are metal scraps everywhere, rubble, and there’s a road- albeit extremely cracked- I stumble upon. This is so strange: Why would the Northerners live in ruins? It’s a good disguise, sure, but not practical in the slightest. 

As I continue to move forward, I enter a town. Buildings have fallen, supplies astrew and, then, bones. Human bones. I gasp, backing away slowly. I stumble on a rock and fall, my hands scraping against something sharp. Dust billows around me, and I start with clearing my eyes of the dirt that's settled in them. Luckily, I only landed on another rock. If it were bones, I may have screamed. This entire road is destroyed: there are multiple piles of bones I see, but something is off about them. They aren’t just piled together: The piles line the street, as if someone placed them there. As I look around, I realize it's some sort of memorial. Thirteen piles of bones line the street. Dust and debris has settled over them, but they’re still visible. They stand out like yellow in a room full of black. They’re on display, like a show of rebellion. Do they represent the thirteen districts, and the people who died because of them? Is this some sort of joke?

The piles aren’t small. They’re huge. Now, I look at the surrounding buildings. Some have collapsed completely; others only remain a small bit, their foundations unbreaking. Those ones, I realize, have graffiti on them. Upon closer observation, the graffiti acts as an addition to the extemporary graveyard. Names, slogans I don’t understand, numbers, and rebellious writings coat the once-white buildings. The writing is precise, and you can read what everything says. The only imperfections are dust-covered layers and running paint from rain. It hasn’t rained here in a long time, though, as everything is bone-dry.

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it. 

The graffiti, painted in red, have multiple messages.

“We stand together.”

“Damn the Capitol!”

“No more.”

And names. Dozens- if not hundreds- of names line the wall, sprawled in black pen, lining the pillars, rocks, everything in sight. Like a book of names, only written into buildings, where they’ll never be erased. They’ve immortalized these people: their lives will always be remembered, souls never put to sleep.

A sudden, very dark, disturbing thought hits me: What if this was the North? What if this is where the rebels now live, and the Capitol caught word? This entire journey would be useless. Something inside me tells me this isn’t the case. That the North still prospers. I smile to myself as I think of Coriolanus’ mantra, “Snow lands on top.” However, maybe, it’s “North lands on top.” That would be beautiful to find out.

I decide to continue walking through the street, trying my hardest to avoid any loose rocks. This road has been completely picked over, as no straggling bones are found. Maybe the people who created these memorials did so right after whatever happened here occurred. It was most likely a bombing. That would explain the smoke, the numerous dead bodies, and the destroyed city. After a few moments, I realize the city stretches on for miles. Because the sun is setting, I have to find somewhere to stay, and quick.

A feeling settles upon me. I’ve had this feeling ever since I entered the abandoned city, but I ignored it in lieu of my curiosity. A feeling of being watched, that I’m not alone. There are probably some odd animals around here, but this is different. This is something I’ve felt only once, in the arena. Like someone is watching me with the intent to hurt me.

I shake it off as paranoia. I realize I’ve ignored my intuition many times in the last five days. I ignored my intuition about Coriolanus, anyway. I find a building that seems to be somewhat intact: The walls, though gaping open, are solid, and what must’ve been the floor above the ground acts like a roof. I observe my surroundings, carefully stepping between two piles of bones, and enter the building through what used to be a window. My foot crunches on glass, and I wince at the sound. There are a few patches of clean floor, but a large pile of rubble, with something large at the top, covers most of the North side of the building. I walk toward it, drawn toward the object. It’s a symbol, I realize, and it looks somewhat like the Capitol symbol… Oh, no. This could be a trap.

I observe the symbol: It’s the same one I saw on the hovercraft. As I move forward, I step on a loose rock, sending a pile of pebbles and rubble down, falling in a puff of dust that makes my nose itch. I sneeze, the first noise I’ve made since arriving here. For some reason, I feel like my sneeze was unwelcome and caused a disturbance. I’m the only one here, though. 

As the dust clears, I look closer at the symbol. The fallen pebbles reveal more of the buried rock, and what I see startles me. But what happens next is, perhaps, the most frightful thing to happen since the Reaping:

A voice, the first voice I hear in days, sounds behind me.

“Welcome to District 13.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update! I was extremely busy the week leading up to last Wednesday, so I didn't have time to write chapter four. Same with this week. Chapter five should be up tomorrow or later this week. Thank you for your patience and continued interest in my story!

A woman rewraps my arm, tsking at my makeshift tourniquet. The scarf is covered in dried blood, the stick flimsy, and my arm a bright red. She told me earlier that the bullet would have to be removed, but that would require medics who were busy handling a few sick citizens. I wince as she draws the bandage tighter, causing my arm to ache. At least it isn’t infected. The room I’m in is stark white, but the lights are dim, so it’s less harsh on the eyes. In fact, everything has a dingy, overcast feel to it. I guess that makes sense, considering we’re underground. It’s either humid or completely dry. Maybe they’ve got technology that manipulates climate, and they’re still trying to adjust to what’s best for everyone. That’s probably not the case, though. 

I wince as the medic pulls the bandage tighter, the portion of my arm where she’s bandaging the only clean part of my body. Despite the consistent bathing in the lake, I’m still covered from head to toe in dirt. The medic said I’ll be bathed as soon as my physical exam is over, and I’m interviewed by the president, someone who’s “been waiting to see me.” Whatever that means. Granted, they have every reason to be suspicious. Its not every day someone wanders into a hidden bunker.

For some reason, though, I have the urge to hide my true identity. Though the districts barely have access to viewings of the Games, the technology here could be different. Maybe they are active participants, providing ideas and betting on the victors. That’s unlikely. If District 13 were supposed to be destroyed, and it wasn’t, they’d have to be kept a secret from the Capitol. The Capitol boasts the destruction of the district every year before the reaping. 

The medic clears her throat. “We’re going to remove the bullet from your arm shortly, you’re no good to us if you’re infected. The radiation you were exposed to did do some harm to your lungs, but we have medication for that. We’ve lost many from it due to a lack of resources, and we’re not going to make that same mistake again. It may be hard to breathe for a bit, but that’s better than nothing at all. Do wash yourself after visiting with the president, and then come back to us. We will be waiting.”

One thing that’s bothered me so much is their hospitality. I appreciate it, but they’re acting like the Covey in District 12. Actually, most people in 12 wouldn’t jump to help another person. There must be a population issue. A district that was destroyed by the Capitol wouldn’t rush to help unknown people. Unless they’re used to people coming in… but most people I know are too afraid of traveling North. I probably look too district to be a threat. I brush it off, nodding as the medic walks out of the too-bright room. She left a dull jumpsuit in her wake, and I take the folded lump of clothing to a corner and strip out of my dress, ignoring the filth that coats it. I’m sure they’ll dispose of it- its rags at this point- but a part of me hopes they’ll preserve it. It would be nice to have a piece of home with me. 

I slip into the too-large jumpsuit. It’s labeled as an extra small, but my frail limbs and short stature still drown in the fabric. It seems my time in the forest caught up to me: I’m almost as small as I was when I entered the Games. The one good thing that came from winning them was the money I was prized. Though a small sum, it definitely provided me with enough food to fill our bellies. Being in too large of clothes is no problem, I’m sure they’ll let me tailor it so I’m not a jumble of cloth wherever I walk after I visit the president.

Right. The president. Like that’s something tiny and not a huge barrier between a new life and I. 

District 13 is more modern than I thought. Doors open automatically as you walk toward them. In District 12, the doors jam, if they are able to close all the way. In the summer, cool breezes are a blessing, but in the winter, the chilled air fills the hallways and can freeze you down to the bone. Few buildings receive electricity, even fewer heat, so winters are especially brutal. More than once, the Covey have come across someone who succumbed to the freezing temperatures, their unforgiving, merciless existence a reminder of the luxuries we’ve never been afforded. Here, the temperature seems regulated. It's comfortable. Comfort was something to be cherished in District 12, as it never lasted. One day, your belly is full. The next, you’re sucking on mint to trick your empty stomach that you’ve eaten anything that day. 

In District 13, the few people I’ve encountered have been small, but well-fed. They definitely don’t carry the plumpness of Capitol citizens, but their cheeks aren’t hollow and their clothing doesn’t hang as loose as mine. They must have a stable food system set up here. District 12 has attempted, on numerous accounts, to set up a community garden, but creatures from the forest and ravenous beggars have always gotten to them before they became of any use to us. The people of thirteen obviously aren’t accustomed to this lifestyle. I’m sure theft is considered a capital crime here, while in twelve, it's supposedly punishable by death, though scuffles are usually the biggest thing thievery results in. Here, the crime rates must be low. There’s probably not any violence, and at the very least, no murder. It's rare in the districts, but a feud can end in that once in a while. However, the biggest killer in twelve is the Games. I’m our first victor. So far, nineteen of our children have been killed, not counting those lost in the war.

I have no clue if they’ve watched the Games here. If I reveal who I am, will they send me away? Punish me in some odd form, thinking I’m now a Capitol gem, feigning ignorance to receive information and inform them of the odd ways of District 13, just to sabotage them and force them into submission, proving that no one is really safe from the Capitol? I wonder what kind of deal Dean Highbottom made with the president to trick her into succumbing to show the other districts that even the strongest aren’t capable of destroying the Capitol. That's what the photographs they show at school show, anyway. A district in ruins, inhabitants incinerated by the fire bombs dropped by the Capitol. A constant reminder that that could happen to us at any moment, as if peacekeepers weren’t enough to drive the power of the Capitol into all of our minds.

Now that I am dressed, I walk down the long hallway to a set of doors way at the end. The windows are black, so I can see nothing through it. I choose not to observe my surroundings, as I’ll just get confused and overthink my way through everything. I don’t even acknowledge the people who pass me. If I get past the president, everything will be set in place and my new life will begin.

Two men stand in front of the door, their attire the same gray jumpsuit as mine. It's rather monotonous here. The first is blonde. He looks younger, around my age, and has a slightly chubby build. The other is a tall man with broad shoulders. His hair is a dark brown, while his gray eyes reflect those of the Seam. He’s rather handsome, though there is no hint of kindness in his eyes. They must know who I am, for the blonde swipes a card next to the door and it slides open. They trail behind me, and I enter a large room with a roundtable in front of flickering screens. It’s dark, and everything is cast in a dark gray. A woman sits at the table, seated next to a broody man whose stature reminds me of peacekeepers. The woman is older, maybe in her late sixties, with gray hair that looks unnatural and falls in flat layers around her shoulders. Her hands are clasped together, and her eyes follow my every movement. The man stares at his hand, the other arm cast against the back of his chair. He’s more relaxed than her by far, though something tells me he could pounce at any moment. Must be the military branch, if they even have one. 

I take a seat, the metal surprisingly cold. The two men who guarded the door retreat. Behind me are two more guards, but the low light makes it nearly impossible to make out their faces. It makes me uneasy, but I’m sure that’s on purpose. Discomfort brings the truth to light.

The woman, the president, most likely, clears her throat before unclasping her hands and leaning forward. “I’m President Adalia. This is District 13’s commander in chief, Commander Coin. Welcome to District 13.” Her tone is straightforward and all business, unlike the unyielding commands of District 12’s leaders. President Adalia’s stare is icy. I can feel her scrutinizing me, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around myself in defense. I can’t help but compare her to the mayor. I choose to say nothing. “We’re going to ask you a few questions before deciding whether or not you’ll be exiled from the district.” Exiled? What on Earth is this woman talking about? You can’t exile someone from a district. Unless, of course, she means executed. If District 12 has hangings, so must other districts. We’re cut off from each other, so you’re left to wonder what life is like in different areas.

As it seems, life outside the Capitol is inherently dangerous.

At my continued lack of response, the president carries on. “First and foremost, we’re inclined to ask where you’ve come from and how you got here. The bullet wound on your arms shows a struggle, no?” She quirks her eyebrow and observes the bandage on my arm.

“I’m from District 11.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, the lie no longer contained now that it's escaped my lips. I can’t backtrack anymore, so it's best if I create a whole new identity. Why do I make life so difficult for myself? “I had a struggle with a peacekeeper before I left, that’s why I’m injured.” At least that wasn’t a lie. 

“Ah. Peacekeepers in eleven are known to be more… erm, aggressive than in other districts,” The commander notes before whispering in the president’s ear. His voice is deep like the authority figures back in twelve. He clears his throat and straightens his back at her response. President Adalia shifts back toward me.

“You’re sure this peacekeeper hasn’t traced your steps?” She asks. I nod. Coriolanus wouldn’t follow me, even if he wanted to. “You’re sure?” The president asks, emphasizing sure. It seems to be a pressing manner here in thirteen. I nod again. “If you lead someone from the districts who works for the Capitol here, it is punishable by death. Not just for you- for your entire party. The entire Capitol presence in thirteen must be eliminated. There are no outsiders. Any outliers who could potentially spread information to the Capitol are banished and never seen again. Do you know what that entails?”

Of course I do. It’s what happens to traitors. You’re hung for treason, if not hung then presented to the firing squad. No one deserves that fate, not even Coriolanus. However much blood he has on his hands. “Yes,” I reply simply. “No one followed me. The peacekeeper who did this to my arm retreated back to the district when he couldn’t find me. It was dark and rainy, so I was able to get away quickly. He was new so he didn’t know the district well enough to stray far.” I catch myself rambling and promptly shut my mouth. The less they know the better. Then it’ll be virtually impossible for them to trace any connections to me, Lucy Gray Baird.

President Adalia and Commander Coin nod in unison. “What’s your name?” She asks, clicking a pen I didn’t realize she was holding. There’s a notepad spread out in front of her, writing already sprawled across it. I got so tangled up in my worries, I hardly noticed they were taking notes on me. I wonder if there’ll be a quiz.

What is in a name? A story. Mine is no different. My name already holds a story- the story of the Covey- but since the Games, it's taken on an entirely different meaning. To Sejanus, I was a friend. To Coriolanus, a lover. A foe. Perhaps, an obstacle. To the Capitol, I’m a star. In the districts, who knows what I am? Just another victor?

To myself, though, I know who I am. I am strong. I am a survivor. I am as radiant as the sun. My new name must reflect that, as that is who I’ll be for the next few years, or the remainder, of my life. I think back to my school days, of all the heroines we read about. Most novels were banned a couple years ago because ideas of independence were too strong and unsuitable for students. One book, banned after the year I read it, was Jane Eyre. It has always stuck with me. She persevered through famine, a rough childhood, heartbreak, and loss, and still finds her happy ending. So, there’s no hesitation from me when I say, “My name is Jane.”

I must’ve been expecting a big reaction, because nothing happens and I’m confused. President Adalia writes it down on her notepad, the pen scratching on the paper as the ink etches my new identity on the parchment. Perhaps I over thought the idea of recreating myself, but anything that protects me and solidifies my place in thirteen is good. The president reflects on her notepad before returning to me. “How, exactly, did you manage to escape District 11?” Her tone seems suspicious, as if she doesn’t believe my story. Commander Coin reflecting on eleven’s peacekeepers crosses my mind. District 12 isn’t heavily guarded, though we do have strict peacekeepers. District 11 could be an entirely different world. I wish I’d spoken to Reaper and Dill before they died. Or any of the other tributes. It would’ve been beneficial to have outside knowledge on the other districts.

This part I don’t need to lie about. I clear my throat, though my voice is shaky as I speak. “In my district, there are tales about a place called the North, free from the Capitol’s rule. No one knows where the rumors originated from, but it gives us hope that there’s a better life out there. No one ever mentioned anything about it being the ruins of thirteen. As far as we knew, District 13 was obliterated during the rebellion. One day, I saw my chance and climbed through the fence. I didn’t realize the peacekeeper saw me. We reached a lake and he started shooting at me, but I managed to hide up in a tree until he gave up and retreated. After that I walked along the water for as far as I could. I saw a hovercraft after a few days and followed its direction, then I came across a charred part of the woods. There was a squirrel with three eyes, and I followed him for a bit before discovering the city and that’s when one of your men found me.”

“Sam,” Commander Coin muttered to President Adalia. That must be the name of the man who detained me. Now that I think of it, he seemed to be the same build as one of the men at the door.

President Adalia listened to my story with open ears, and she seemed surprised about the squirrel and hovercraft. “Commander, we need to be more careful about our hovercrafts. The Capitol won’t bother us, but we can’t risk the districts getting word about our survival. They’ll destroy us.” It’s no question who “they” are. Whatever deal the Capitol made with thirteen, it has to be an immense one. No way could a district survive the wrath of the Capitol. It must’ve cost them a lot to survive for this long. “As for Sam, I don’t approve of his approach, but what he did was brave. You’ve raised your nephew well.” There was a tenderness I hadn’t seen before between the two of them. Sam must be a valued member of the district. President Adalia slipped back into her stern tone, though, when her gaze returned to me. “Hm. Well, because you’re from District 11, you have experience gardening and harvesting, correct?” 

Thank the stars I was taught about different herbs. While my knowledge definitely isn’t as extensive as those from eleven, it's more than nothing. I know how to keep a plant alive, if that’s what she’s asking. “Yes,” I say. “I’m not the most knowledgeable, but I’m a quick learner.”

President Adalia nods, looking pleased. “Perfect. We’ll station you in the gardens. We’ve been lacking in that department.” She casts a side-eye toward Commander Coin. “Most people want to join the military branch. We’ve been expanding since the war. We were heavily hit. Surrendering to the Capitol came with a price.” Both look sad, as if remembering something once great that was lost. District 13 was one of the most successful districts before the dark days. Now, it's reduced to rubble and struggling to stay on its own two feet. It must be horrible to watch your life’s work crumble beneath you, yet that happened to every district. “Nevertheless, I believe a tour is on the agenda once our medic clears you and your arm. Depending on your condition, you’ll begin working tomorrow. Sam will lead you today. Samuel!”

On cue, the taller guard outside slides through the automatic doors. So he was the man who brought me here. I sit up straight.

Sam walks with a purpose, stationing himself beside me while paying me no mind, instead giving his clear attention to President Adalia. “What can I assist you with, Madam President?”

Wow. Professional.

She looks at him warmly. “Sam, you know you can just call me Adalia. I want you to assist our new citizen in adjusting to our lifestyle. It’s only temporary, but you’re relieved from your military duties until she’s accustomed. It shouldn’t be too long, and you know we’ll call for you if anything arises.” 

I can’t help but notice his dejected look when he’s released from his normal duties. Well, two can play at this game, if you’re going to be an ass. 

“Anything for you, Adalia,” He replies, though his voice is tense. For once, he acknowledges me, nodding, holding out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Sam. I’ll be guiding you around the district for the time being, until you adjust.” Wow. As if I didn’t just hear that from President Adalia. Okay. So not only is he an ass, but he’s a dick, too. Perfect. In his words, welcome to District 13. I begrudgingly take his hand in my own, shaking it twice. My hand is small compared to his. I can’t help but notice, though, how warm his hand is. How nice human contact feels after so long.

“Well, I guess that’s the conclusion of our meeting. Coin, if I could have a word with you,” President Adalia sighs. Sam takes that as our cue, motioning for me to stand. I do, pushing in the chair. I remember to air my thanks to the president, and she gives me a tight smile before nodding at Sam. He places a hand on my back, lightly shoving me toward the door before it opens and we’re back in the hallway. My eyes adjust to the brighter light, and I blink repeatedly until it no longer burns my pupils. Sam sighs before turning to the blonde guard, who’s more relaxed than before. 

“I’ll see you soon, Philip. I’ve been assigned to assist, um,” He pauses before turning to me. “What’s your name again?”

“Jane,” I answer, a little colder than I meant. He nods, as if he knew all along. Wow, he really is playing the dick part well. He’d make out like a bandit in the Capitol with that attitude. He and Philip engage in a conversation while I observe the hallway. Everything is gray, though it's lighter than the gray in President Adalia’s office. Windows line the walls, looking into larger rooms, though nothing looks into her office. In those rooms, you can see various people doing a multitude of jobs. There are elevators at every corner, with people streaming in and out at all times. I notice everyone has the same tattoo on their arms, some more faded than others. It must be a symbol for thirteen. I’m sure I’ll get one of those eventually. “Hey,” I call to Sam, who disengages from his conversation when he notices I’m speaking to him, though he seems annoyed when I do so. “What’re those marks on everyone’s arms?”

“That’s your daily schedule,” Philip answers me, looking past Sam to me. “It’s not permanent, it washes off at the end of the day. You get it tattooed on in the morning so you don’t forget anything. It’s actually pretty useful.” He checks his arm as an example. “Shoot. That reminds me. Sam, do you have training at three pm too?” Sam shakes his head no.

“Released from all duties until further notice. To train Jane. It shouldn’t be too long though. You seem like a quick learner.” He nods toward me, and I can’t help but look away. My cheeks burn a deep shade of red. Him doubting my intelligence cuts deep. 

“Ah,” Philip says, trying not to seem disappointed. “That’s too bad- no offense, Jane. Just, training sucks when it's not with you or Commander Coin. A little too rough.” Sam laughs at that. His laugh is, how do I put it, different than his normal demeanor. It makes him seem like a real person, with a personality aside from being a dick. Interesting. Maybe he does have a shred of humanity. “Well, I should probably head off. It's time to switch over anyway.” They say their goodbyes before Sam grabs me by the arm again, and we walk toward the medical section.

Our steps sound back to us, echoing down the hallway. I didn’t notice how quiet they were before. I look at my accomplice. He’s definitely twice my size and extremely strong. The military branch was a solid choice for him, and if he’s related to the commander in chief, that’s even better. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got promoted in his lifetime. They trusted him outside the compound, and he’s already lieutenant, and I don’t think that has to do anything with his family. He says nothing as we approach the inside of the hospital, and the medic from before walks toward us. 

“Ready to be fixed up?” She asks. I nod. “It’s gonna hurt a bit. We would sedate you but supplies are running low. We’ve cleared you for rest for the remainder of the day to recover. Sam, you don’t have to stay with us. I know being in the hospital is… not the best for you.” She places an affectionate hand on him, and he agrees. 

“I’ll let my uncle know. Thank you, Greta. I appreciate everything you do for us. You’re the best medic around.” 

They know each other. There’s a tragic history linked between them, though I don’t know what. I’ll be sure to ask. Even if that is overstepping, the history of thirteen is interesting and the more I know, the better. 

I think I’ve thought of more contradictory things than compatible things today.

Sam excuses himself, and Greta turns to me. “Well,” she sighs. “Let’s get to work.”


	5. Chapter 5

The ache in my arm is persistent, but the bullet has been removed and stitches set in place. There was no infection, so it made for an easy, but equally painful, operation. I’m thankful I had all of last night to rest. I don’t think my arm could’ve made it. I almost passed out in the hospital as it was. 

I can already sense Sam’s agitation as I wake up. In thirteen, everyone rises early, but my operation the yesterday and overall exhaustion from my journey caught up with me, causing me to oversleep. He is stationed outside the room I’ve been assigned, and I swear I can hear him impatiently tapping his foot outside my door. Who knew, assholery starts at the crack of dawn.

I huff, knowing it’s going to be a long day. The lack of noise outside my room tells me it’s already past the normal waking hour, so I’ve probably missed breakfast. District 13 runs on frugality, so I’ve got no snacks in my room. Maybe Sam will be nice enough to slip me a slice of toast… unlikely. I stretch my limbs before sliding my legs over the bed, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. It felt nice to sleep in a bed after so long. In fact, this bed may have been the most comfortable one I’ve ever slept in. The sheets crinkle as I move them, and I notice everything here seems gray. The uniforms, gray. Sheets, gray. Walls, gray. Nothing here is colorful. My rainbow dress would stand out viciously here. It does seem like my true name follows me wherever I go. In District 12, the Covey reminded me of our namesake. Here, my name reflects the drabness of it all. I can’t blame them, though. Everything underground is dark, and the loss of a district is a bit morbid. Almost as morbid as the Games that laid in their wake.

If thirteen were involved in the Games, they’d definitely be among the strongest, like District 1, District 2, and District 4. Before the war, they specialized in graphite, but there’s rumor that they dealt with nuclear powers, and that’s why the Capitol obliterated them. Or, as I know, signed a peace treaty with them. Based on the military force I’ve seen, that part is true. I’ve noticed everyone has a strong build, regardless of their weight. They all must go through extensive training in school before being assigned their jobs. 

The tile is cool as my bare feet meet it, and I’m quick to slip on my uniform, the same from yesterday, and the boots they provided me with, lacing them up and running my fingers through my hair, detangling it from my sleep. I then tie it up in a bun, a few curls surrounding my face, as they’re too short to stay in the thick rubber band that holds the majority of my hair. There are no mirrors here, so I trust my instincts and assume my hair looks fine, not that it matters. Here, looks don’t mean anything. I feel the only place where you’re judged for your beauty is the Capitol, and Coriolanus must’ve dug that in my soul. I always wanted to look perfect around him.

The doors to the bedrooms are the only ones with handles, which I guess gives you more privacy. I hesitantly open mine, the cool air of the hallway hitting me as I walk out. As I suspected, Sam is outside my room, arms crossed and agitated already. We meet eyes, and I quickly break our gaze. It's best I don’t egg him on. I’m stuck with him for however long, and I’d rather it not be entirely miserable. The hallway is empty, and Sam stays silent, motioning for me to follow him. We arrive at the elevator I’ve rode only once, to get to my room. We step in it, and a holographic menu pops up. Sam presses a few buttons before solidifying our destination, and we’re moving. Through the glass door, we can see every level as we descend. Sam remains entirely silent, not looking at me. He must be angrier than I thought. I wonder what he’s missing that is so important that it causes him to brood at me all morning. Probably another training session with Philip, who I like. He’s somewhat immature, but from the conversation we had, he’s easygoing and not terrible to be around. A polar opposite to Sam. The elevator stops with a jolt, causing me to stumble. The doors creak open and we walk forward, a blank hallway in front of us. Sam diverts to the right, and I follow him, trying to match his quick pace. We can’t stay silent forever, and if I can get friendly with him, maybe he’ll lighten up by mid-day. I ask, “Where are we going?” 

Sam seems surprised that I’ve spoken to him, but his widening eyes are the only gate to his emotions. The rest is a poker face. Hm. I guess he isn’t expressive, just passive aggressive. I can work with that. “We’re going to get your schedule. You slept through breakfast, so you’re the only person without one.” He stops as we reach a door. It slides open when I step in front of it, and he motions for me to enter before him. “That is a one time thing,” He says, voice hardening. “Sleeping in, I mean. Time is precious, and one late worker sets everyone off for the day.” The room we entered is illuminated in bright light, and we’re met by an older man who types away at a computer. I’ve never seen one up close, and the new technology is mesmerizing. I hope I’ll get to use one one day. Maybe if they trust me enough, I can get a job working with computers. That would be fun, and good knowledge, too. I know in District 3 they work with technology, and they’re responsible for nearly everything new in all the districts. We would barely be powered without them. I don’t think anyone recognizes the potential District 3 has. If they shut down, the whole world would shut down.

What an interesting concept.

The man barely acknowledges us, until he registers that Sam is beside me. “Lieutenant,” He begins, standing up. He’s pointed, and I can tell he has significant military experience. I can’t help but notice the prosthetic that’s in place of his leg. He must’ve been a key figure in the rebellion if he lost a leg. “What an honor. What can I help you with at this hour?”

Sam places his hand on the glass top of the desk. “I’ve been assigned as the mentor to Jane, she’s from District 11. She overslept this morning and missed the daily schedule. Could you tattoo it on her now?” Mentor? Okay. I can see that. I guess mentoring is going to be something significant in my life. First Coriolanus, now Sam. Hopefully Sam doesn’t try to sabotage thirteen. I chuckle at the thought. My life is becoming a metaphor. Sam and the man give me a weird look before the man says I can get my schedule.

It stings, but Sam says I’ll get used to the feeling soon enough. It fades throughout the day and will wash off in the shower. The time is written in the 24-hour clock, so I’ve got to get used to it that way. Not that I mind, but it’ll take some practice. They’ve provided me a watch so I can keep track of time. I’ve never been good with it anyway, so it's a blessing. As I examine my schedule, I see it's painfully short. A lot of “training,” with little “rest” and “dining” periods. It’s only nine, and the next dining period is at noon. 

I feel bad for being upset. In twelve, you’re lucky to have three meals a day, and I willingly skipped out on breakfast. That’s a luxury we couldn’t afford. Skipping a meal could mean death, if you’re that starved. My journey through the forest gave me an advantage. There was always food available, and if I ran low I wouldn’t have to walk far to find more. A limitless supply has always been a fantasy, and now its a reality.

I realize I’m angry at thirteen. How can they live idly by as the other districts starve to death? The Capitol citizens are blissfully ignorant, but District 13 knows famine, yet they choose to ignore it? Whatever happened to “help thy neighbor?” Even if they were required to keep their existence a secret, it must be easy to disguise yourself when you’re as technologically advanced as they seem to be, yet the president wanted to interrogate me? She could make life easier for District 11, but she chooses not to. If I wanted to escape an oppressive society for a better life, albeit illegally, aren’t I justified in that wish? To seek refuge? 

These thoughts must’ve been what fueled the rebellion. I know I need to shake them off, and my anger at thirteen is uncalled for. After all, they didn’t kick me out, and I’m certainly not dead. Just accompanied by a passive aggressive lieutenant who’d rather do anything else than act as a tour guide all week. 

On my arm, I’m “training” until the lunch period. I suppose that’s going over the basics of life in thirteen, as well as visiting the gardens and getting a general overview of the work I’ll be doing.

“Because you’re sixteen, you’re past school age and will be working in the gardens full-time,” Sam explains this to me as we ride the elevator down to the gardens, where I’ll train today. It’s a rather long ride. “I assume you’re literate and can do basic math?” 

First, acting as if I’m a nuisance. Now, doubting my intelligence. I wish I’d been assigned Philip. At least he had some faith in me. “Yes, I’m really good at reading and writing, decent at math. I was able to calculate how many miles I traveled at one point,” I answer, trying my best not to sound as frustrated as I feel. It doesn’t work, and I feel my shoulders tense as Sam takes a step toward me.

“Are we going to act like this all day?” He asks, giving me a well-deserved glare. His eyes darken when he’s angry, and I take a step back, my defenses rising. He sighs. “Listen, I’m not happy with this arrangement either. I’m sure you’d be fine on your own, but I’m under the president’s orders, as are you. If we can’t be friendly, at least be civil.” 

What?! He acts like I’m an inconvenience all day, and he’s telling me to be civil? I scoff, trying not to laugh at his assertion. “I’m not the one acting all high and mighty, lieutenant,” I retort, emphasizing his position as a defense. “I’m sorry you think you’re above helping a mere citizen, and not stationed outside digging through rubble.”

I struck a nerve. He’s taken aback. Maybe I was too harsh, but he deserves it. I’m tired of men thinking they’re better than me because they come from a better place than the districts. “I didn’t have to bring you in,” He mutters, voice cold. Well, if that wasn’t obvious. The only shred of kindness he showed me was deciding not to shoot me on sight. “You have no idea what I sacrificed, doing that. None.”

I chuckle, then counter, “What? What could you have possibly sacrificed, Lieutenant? Extra time for breakfast?”

Sam sneers at me. The elevator is slowing, so I prepare for the jerk that signifies our arrival. It doesn’t come. “I sacrificed the trust of President Adalia and my uncle. I put our district under serious danger, letting you in. Now they have to integrate you into our society. Know why you’re not getting military training?”

So everyone was provided military training, and I was the odd one out. Maybe not, though, considering I won the Hunger Games, but they don’t know that. They won’t know that. Despite the fact that it makes sense to not train me, Sam’s words hurt. I may be a citizen, but I’m not seen as one. I am a nuisance as far as District 13 is concerned. “They’ll train me in due time. I just have to show them I’m worthy,” I say back, and then the elevator jerks and Sam puts his poker face back on, ignoring everything I just said.

The doors open up in a beautiful greenhouse, roses and sunflowers in rows surrounding us. There’s an artificial sun that casts an actual feeling of warmth upon us as we step out of the elevator, which immediately rises again once the door closes. It smells of fresh air here, and I can’t help but marvel at the pure genius this must’ve taken. The musky smell of underground, which coats every level, is almost unnoticeable. There are even birds in here. Mockingjays, I recognize almost immediately. They flap about, nesting in the trees I see. There are apple and orange trees, and past the flowers that adorn the first few rows are wheat plants and various vegetables. As I expected, there are many people bent over harvesting fruits, planting seeds, and watering piles of dirt. A woman with one eye pushes a wheelbarrow full of soil down a path, heading toward a wall where there are gardening supplies strewn about. It's beautiful here, and suddenly working in the sun every day doesn’t seem too bad a job. 

Sam breaks the silence, interrupting the slight chatter of the birds. “This is where we obtain most of our food. There’s livestock a few levels above, where we obtain fertilizer and our meat, but down here is where everything is grown. Nothing artificial here in District 13.” 

I nod. Sustainability is crucial here, and the fresher the food, the healthier the people. 

A woman with glasses and light brown hair pulled back in an odd sort of ball in the back of her head approaches us, rubbing her face. Her hands are gloved, gloves covered in soil, as are her kneecaps. She’s pushed her sleeves up, and I see a few red dots along her arms. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” she acknowledges Sam first before turning to me. “You must be Jane. Nice to meet you.” Then she hugs me, which is odd. She pulls away sharply. “Sorry. That was rude of me. I’m Sapphire, head of the gardening department. Thank you, by the way.” Sapphire shifts her gaze back to Sam, and I realize her eyes match her name. They truly are sapphire. “I’ve been begging for more bodies for weeks. It’s almost time for our big harvest, and we’re busy as ever. Oh, and tell your uncle thank you for the honeybees! It was thoughtful of him, and they’ve helped a lot. Even if they’ve stung me a few times.” She then observes the red marks on her arms, which I now register as bee stings. I think back to the tracker jackers the Capitol placed around our district during the dark days, and how multiple stings could drive someone absolutely mad. I’ve been stung once, which was more than enough for a lifetime. The Covey stuck me in bed for days, and the only thing that helped was a chewed up herb Maude Ivory was clever enough to find. “Jane, for now you can help water and fertilize. Once harvest begins, we’ll show you the ropes.”

Sapphire then gives me a tour of the greenhouse, which is larger than it appeared. Rows and rows stretch for what seems like forever, filled with every fruit and vegetable I can imagine. We aren’t allowed to eat what we harvest until it's shipped to the kitchen through an extra large schute near the back of the greenhouse. I meet a few other people, all of whom are friendly and grateful for the help I’ll provide. Soon, a bell rings for lunch, and everyone commutes to the elevators scattered along the room. Sam was a silent shadow throughout the entire tour, and continues his silence as we ascend to the dining hall.

The dining hall, as expected, is drabby and gray, with tables and benches lined up in rows. Food is dished out in equal platters, the elderly and children served smaller portions than the rest of us. I realize there aren’t many middle aged adults, like Sam’s uncle, here. They must’ve been lost during the rebellion. 

Sam and I sit down on an empty bench, our trays of mush equally distributed. I say nothing as I begin to eat, observing the blank TVs lining pillars around the hall. I try not to eat too fast, but I quickly surrender to my hunger and dig into my plate. It's not the fresh game that I’m used to, but at least it’s food. As I’m about to take my second bite of a rough roll, Philip catches sight of us and gives me a bright smile. “Hey!” He greets Sam and I as he sets his tray down at our table, carrying a bottle of water under his arm. “Long time no see. Or, well, twenty hours.” He laughs at his own joke, but shuts his mouth when Sam doesn’t acknowledge him. “Well, how’s your day been? Having fun with the good Sammy-O?” Philip playfully shoves Sam, who gives in and laughs with him. I guess they are good friends, and Sam does have a personality other than being an arrogant asshole. Who knew.

“Yes, Sam’s just shown me the gardens. I’m excited to work there.” I smile at Philip. I’m starting to think I have at least one friend here in District 13. That’s better than nothing.

“Wow! Already on a first name basis. Pretty speedy, if you ask me,” Philip remarks, stuffing mashed potato in his mouth. He chews with his mouth open, and I look to Sam to ignore it.

“She’ll learn,” Sam says simply. You bet I will, buddy. “It’s lieutenant to everybody except for my uncle during family time. Philip, you get the pass.” Philip points a finger toward Sam, smiling as he continues to chew.

Changing the subject, I ask, “What’s with the TVs?” They’re blank besides the District 13 symbol that covers the screen. I’ve rarely passed one, never any as fancy as these, and never as many in one area as these. They’re strewn all over the dining hall, and if I remember correctly, the greenhouse and medical center as well.

“Capitol broadcasts,” Philip says simply, stabbing broccoli with his fork but not eating it. “We get all of them. The important ones we show everywhere, but most of the time we only watch the news during dinner, if it's playing. Sometimes reception is bad, so we don’t get any, but most people don’t pay it any attention anyway.”

They get Capitol broadcasts? Oh, no. That means they may see the Games. If they do, they’re sure to recognize me at some point. Unless I’ve changed enough since the Games, which maybe I have. I’m not dirty anymore, and I’m not nearly as frail as I was. I pretend that Capitol news is of no importance to me and fein indifference. “Oh,” I say apathetically. “We rarely got those in District 11. So, they’re nothing to pay any mind?”

Philip shovels the broccoli into his mouth. “Exactly.”

When I look to my right, Sam’s eyes are burning into me.


	6. Chapter 6

The knowledge that thirteen could have seen the Games frightens me. Now, I depend on their ignorance and people not caring enough to watch them. If not, I may crumble.  
I lay in bed, staring at the creaky ceiling above me. It’s nearing the time when everyone wakes up, but I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep all night. As I thought, a knock comes from the other side of the door, signifying its time to wake up. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, which I find ironic considering I hardly slept, and rise from the bed, pulling my hair into the same style as yesterday. I’m hoping to get a shower soon. I feel grimy, and the new climate in thirteen isn’t helping much. However, I’m sure showers are scheduled, as is everything in thirteen. Figures.You can’t leave control forever.

Our lives were never ours to begin with, and I’m seeing it now. 

I button up my jumpsuit and open the door, Sam on guard next to it. He nods to me before saying, “Up for breakfast today?” I scowl at him, taking two steps in front of him before he grabs my arm and shoves me the other way. “Other way, comrade. Don’t get too confident.” I tighten my lips and nod in annoyance. It’s going to be another long day. 

I rub the area surrounding my skin after getting my schedule tattooed on my wrist, trying hard to not smudge the still-setting ink. Today, I’m scheduled to “Garden” from nine to noon, and after lunch until dinner. There’s a thirty minute period before bed labeled “Personal Time.” I assume that’s when I’ll be able to shower, and I’m grateful. The garden seems like messy work. 

Our trays are filled with porridge and an orange on the side, fresh from the gardens. Genetically engineered, more like, but fruit is fruit and a delicacy not found often in District 12. I grab a carton of milk as we walk through the line, Philip a few people in front of us. He steps to the side and waits, giving us a wave and motioning for us to follow him. We sit at the same bench as before, and I set my tray down carefully, trying my best to not make any sound. The porridge looks putrid, and when I bring my spoon to my mouth, it burns my tongue. The bland taste doesn’t help much. That must be why the sweetness of the orange is here. Philip laughs at me. “You’ll get used to it,” He remarks, grinning to himself as he takes a spoonful of porridge himself. Sam, drinking from his carton of milk, nods. When he sets it down, there’s a line of milk above his top lip.

“Uh, Sam, you’ve got a... “ I gesture toward his face, pointing my finger at his lip. Flustered, he wipes his lip with the back of his hand before angrily peeling his orange. He’s too rough on the outside, and his fingers squeeze until juice comes out of the sides. The sticky juice coats his hand, and I offer him a napkin, but he refuses, brushing it off like it's a nuisance. Philip watches the whole exchange with a quirk in his eyebrow, then wipes his face with his napkin like it's the only thing in the world. “Okay,” I say, my voice fluctuating as I throw down the napkin. I realize it's wasteful, and thirteen hates waste, so I used it to wipe my mouth off before slamming it on my tray and standing up. I throw the food away, saving the orange, before Sam grabs me by the arm and turns me around.

“You are under my orders. You do not get up or leave without my permission,” He growls, grip tightening on my wrist. 

I narrow my eyes at him before snatching my hand away, nearly dropping the orange in the process. “Well, lieutenant, you should’ve thought of that before being an ass.” I push him aside with my shoulder, not caring that other people were watching curiously, as if this was an odd performance being put on. I saunter through the dining hall, nodding toward Philip, who has an amused smile on his face. I’m not sure why. 

A booming voice stops me in my tracks. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Jane, but it seems you need a recount of the rules here in District 13. I’m not sure how things ran in District 11, but your behavior is unacceptable,” Sam announces. Everyone is watching, and I realize they’re looking toward me. Sam walks over to me matter-of-factly. In a whisper, he says, “Lest you forget why you’re allowed to stay here, you ought to show us more respect. Don’t think we won’t send you away, because we will. All it takes is a sentence from Commander Coin, and you’re gone.” He backs away, breath hot on my ear. Then, he nods. “Keep that in mind, Jane.”

Hot tears burn in my eyes, and my cheeks are two shades darker. People have returned to their daily conversation, but Sam’s words still stick. I glare at him angrily before turning on my feet. I’m about to walk through a door before a guard stops me. “Ah,” he says, looking at me through round glasses. “Food isn’t to be taken out of the dining hall.” He holds his hand out to me expectantly and I begrudgingly place the orange in his hand, not without groaning first. There goes the only sweet part of my day.

I remember my obligation to Sam, and my mood sours even more. I can’t go anywhere without him, and he’s still in the dining hall eating and talking away with his fellow soldiers. I refuse to go back in, that would be even more humiliating than being scolded by him in front of the entire district, so I sit on a ledge in front of the doors. The guard with glasses looks behind himself and gives me a strange look, to which I stare back, emotionless. It's my own form of rebellion, sitting out here instead of the dining hall, where I’m supposed to be. I’m beginning to think there's a little bit of rebellion in Covey blood. I think back to Maude Ivory, and my heart aches at the thought of her, probably distraught and wondering where I am. I wish I could tell her about thirteen, what it's like, and that there’s a place just outside of the Capitol’s reach. That would be the spark of hope she needs, and I hope she never loses her spunk. 

The door to the dining hall opens and Sam towers over me, hand outstretched. “C’mon Jane, it's time for the gardens.” I take his hand, adding a harsh squeeze as I pull myself up. Sam retaliates by squeezing my hand so hard I let out a whimper. He lets go, and I snatch my hand out of his grasp, rubbing the skin tenderly. He begins the walk to the elevator, and the ride down is silent.

He waits for me to step out of the elevator, and I embrace the warm breeze and calming aroma the flowers produce. Sapphire approaches us, taking off her dirty gloves and wiping sweat off her forehead, her braid messy after the morning’s work. “Just on time! In fact,” She checks her watch, a simple thing with nothing other than the time. “You’re early,” She says with a smile. Sapphire nods toward Sam. “Great work, lieutenant.” She bounces on her feet, looking behind her at other gardeners before returning to me, unapologetically nice. “I think I’ll take you through the ropes today, diving in headfirst can lead to disaster.” She laughs. “I would know! You wouldn’t believe the number of plants I killed when we first installed the greenhouse. Too many to count.” Neither Sam or I laugh. Her smile drops a bit, and she scrambles to find another talking point. “Oh! Er, Sam, you don’t have to be here today. Jane- it’s Jane, right? Okay, good- and I will be just fine on our own. You can come back around dinner, I don’t think she’ll mind having lunch with me. Will you?”

Sapphire turns to me, and I say, “No, I wouldn’t mind. I think one meal a day with Sam is enough.” She chuckles awkwardly, and I look pointedly at Sam. I hope he knows that was a dig.

Sam’s nostrils flare and he holds his chin up high, eyes tightening as they bore into mine. “Well, as lieutenant, I’m the one who makes decisions. Yes, Sapphire, Jane can dine with you. She’s a handful, so be careful. Don’t let her forget who she is.”

Damn! Why is he always getting the last word? He turns away before I can say anything else, briskly walking toward the elevator. One day, he’s going to trip, or forget something, and I’ll be the one laughing. I sigh before Sapphire slaps a hand on my shoulder, her smile returned, ignoring Sam’s blatant insult toward me. “Well! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. Why don’t I show you the ropes?”

Sapphire leads me down a long path of plants. None of them are food, so I stare at them in confusion. “These aren’t for eating, but they’re nice to look at and, well, propagating them was easy. Plus, the greenery helps the other plants. I’m sure you know all about propagation, being from eleven and all.” 

Nope. No idea. Here my lie comes to bite me in the ass. I should’ve thought about using a District such as eleven as a reference. Gardening is their strong suit, and while I have a basic understanding, my knowledge stems from twelve. I remember the look Sam gave me last night and shiver. Perhaps that’s why he’s been so cold this morning, but then again, he’s like this all the time. “Yeah,” I say uncertainly. Sapphire hands me a spray bottle filled with water she picked up from the ground.

“Will you water the plants around here? I’m just going to trim a few leaves off this tree, they’re turning a bit yellow.” She pulls a pair of scissors from her belt loop and steps on a stool, disappearing into the branches of an orange tree. I take the spray bottle and begin spraying the plants, the water coming out in a spritz and sticking in small droplets on the tops of the plants. I get the hang of it, becoming more liberal with my sprays, when Sapphire’s head pops out from the leaves. “We bottom water them normally, but spraying every morning never hurts. You see that one, over there?” She points to a section where there’s a large variety of plants, and I shrug my shoulders, signifying I don’t know. She bumps herself in the forehead with her palm. “Oh, duh. I’m pointing at a cluster. The green ones with white lines, the nerve plant. That one is so dramatic. It’ll be completely fine for two weeks straight, then one day you wake up and it’s all wilted.”

“How rude of them,” I say, thinking back to District 12 and how the plant is an odd metaphor our people. People go weeks without food, and sometimes you’d stumble upon someone who’d been just fine the day before slumped over their dining table or in the middle of the sitting room, dead. 

“Mmm, well, others thrive on neglect, so not much to worry about there. Ah! Got it!” I hear a snap, then Sapphire climbs down the step stool, a few yellowed leaves in her hands. She holds them up as she reattaches the scissors to her belt. “They’re not harmful, but I’d rather the tree’s energy go toward producing fruits rather than fixing decaying leaves.” I nod. All of this plant stuff is a bit interesting, I have to admit. We continue to walk through rows and rows of plants before we approach an empty area, only an open soil bag and a wheelbarrow of numerous plants, all still growing, around. Sapphire rubs her hands together before tossing a pair of gloves to me. “Time to get our hands dirty,” She states, taking a hose and using it to fill a watering can with chilled water. “Here, start with this.” The bag of soil is slid over to me, and I begin shoveling some of it into the empty slots of the plant holders, not too much but not too little. Sapphire then hands me a can of bits that look like broken pieces of nuts. “Mosquito bits,” She says nonchalantly. “We don’t get many pests in thirteen but, you gotta play it safe.” I nod, adding them to the soil before wetting it. This is easier than I thought. Sapphire approaches me, a small plant in her hand, dirt clotting its roots. “Here, here,” she says, and I scoot away from her. She makes a hole in the soil and places the plant there before packing it in tight. Taking the watering can from behind her, Sapphire sprinkles a small bit of water over the plant. Then, she excitedly claps her hands. “Yes! You did it, your first plant!”

She seems genuinely happy, so I smile with her, high fiving her when she holds her hand up. We continue this for a while, and soon we’ve both worked up a sweat. I’m enjoying planting the various fruits and vegetables, and Sapphire makes for good company, even though she’s a bit odd. She readjusts her braid, smiling at me, before pushing up her glasses and smearing dirt on her face, then wiping it off with her elbow. Another gardener offers us water, and we take it obligingly before returning back to work. We’re both covered up to the forearm in dirt, so neither of us pay any mind when water trails down our arms and leaves streaks of dirt in its wake. 

I wonder what Sam is doing right now. Probably some training, or complaining about me to the commander. Hopefully the former. After planting around ten strawberry patches, my curiosity takes over me. “So, what’s the deal with Sam?” I ask. His behavior has been bugging me all day, and I can’t stop thinking there’s something deeper. 

Sapphire pays no mind to my question. “Oh, he’s the commander’s nephew. Lieutenant Sam Coin,” She explains, her voice almost dreamy when she repeats his name. She returns to patting down the soil around her grape vine. “Also, you should start referring to him as ‘lieutenant.’ I don’t mind, but it's considered disrespectful to not refer to someone by their rank. Just so you know.”

“Right, but I mean, what’s his deal? He’s such a dick,” I say, unable to control my nasty tone. “I know I should call him by his title, I just don’t.” I haven’t crossed a line, at least not with Sapphire, because she laughs.

“Don’t give him such a hard time,” She says. “He’s a real tragic boy, you know.” I don’t know, so I shake my head. She sighs as she sits back, no longer squatting. Sapphire takes the opportunity to take off her gloves and air out her hands. “Well, his parents were some of the bravest fighters in the war. They died fighting in the Capitol in a rapid fire. No one knows which side started it, but no matter who you were, if you got caught, you died. He was a real young boy at the time, and his uncle took him under his wing once the war ended and we went underground. People say he’s lieutenant because of his uncle, but I don’t think so. He may be only eighteen, but he inherited his parent’s fight and his uncle’s bite.” She smiled at her own rhyme before picking a leaf off a plant, inspecting it before tossing it into the wheelbarrow. “He had a hard life, is what I’m trying to say. Cut him some slack.”

So, that’s the story of Lieutenant Samuel Coin. For some reason, I’ve been imagining him as some heartless soldier, not a young man who has this demanding of a position at such a young age. “Huh,” I say, glancing at a few birds that cross the sky. Mockingjays. Just then, Sapphire’s watch beeps.

“Oh! Well, I guess it's time for lunch… are you feeling hungry?”

Truthfully, I wasn’t. The wretched porridge from this morning and the nerves from Sam’s actions last night have consumed my appetite. I shake my head. “Well, me neither,” Sapphire says, full of glee. “Listen, I know I told you before that we can’t sneak snacks but…” She produces two oranges from her apron, and I almost start drooling. “Why don’t we munch on these for a little and rest up?” 

I agree and she takes me to the back of the greenhouse, where we sit on bags of soil and peel our oranges, throwing the shells into a pail for compost. The flavor is exquisite, and I wish for the people back home to experience this more than once in their lifetime.

Home. As if I even have one anymore. I brush away the thought. I can’t dwell on the past, then I’ll just get sad, and then I’ll get confused. “You know,” Sapphire starts. “Most of the time, everyone is apprehensive about letting new people in, but I like you,” She says, placing a hand on my knee, rubbing it. We both seem taken aback by the motion, and she hesitantly pulls her hand away, returning to her orange.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I say, and she blushes. I don’t know why, but I do too. We both continue to eat our oranges, looking out at the empty greenhouse, admiring the garden and the artificial sunlight that shines down on everything. The only sound is the chirping of the mockingjays. I get an idea. “Wanna hear something?” I say, and she nods enthusiastically, biting into her orange. I begin to sing. 

_“Deep in the meadow, under the willow,  
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes,  
And when they open, the sun will rise.”_

The mockingjays response is instantaneous, and Sapphire is mesmerized. “I knew they repeated melodies, but never have they quieted like that. That’s a whole new behavior,” She says, astounded. “It was beautiful.” We smile at each other for a moment before returning to our nearly finished oranges.

The mockingjays continue their song. It's peaceful, and I realize, for the first time since arriving in thirteen, I feel comfortable.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam arrives in the gardens five minutes to six, arms crossed. By now, both Sapphire and I are regretting skipping out on lunch. The sun beats down on us, and our movements are sluggish as Sapphire carries bags of soil over her back and I push a wheelbarrow full of harvested crops. I nearly crash into it as I set it down when we approach Sam, who looks at us with a stern expression. We must look as exhausted as we feel though, because he goes easy on us. “I didn’t see you at lunch, Jane. Nor did I see you, Sapphire. Where were you?”

Sapphire smiles, and I’m amazed at how much energy she has after working so hard in the gardens all day. “Well,” She begins, sliding the bag of soil off her back and rubbing her hands together, dirt flaking off the gloves as she removes them. “We were so immersed in our work we lost track of time. By then we didn’t feel hungry, so we decided to keep working. I hope that doesn’t bother you,” She added. Sam grins at her, a grin I’ve never seen before.

His tone changes. “Of course not, Sapphire. But,” He steps closer to her, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m intruding on a private conversation. “Lunch is the most important meal of the day.” Sam looks her up and down, and she cocks an eyebrow.

“Is it?” She asks. Her tone changes too, and I realize I am definitely intruding on something. I don’t know why, but I feel a pang of envy. I’m not sure if it's because Sam is being nice to Sapphire, or if it's the way he’s treating her that makes me feel this way, but no matter what, I don’t like them talking to each other in that tone. It doesn’t feel right. Not that I have good judgement when it comes to anything like this, anyway.

 _Coriolanus talked to you like that_ , a small voice in my head says. I shake it away and clear my throat. “Should we, um, get going to dinner?” I ask, and clearly I break the tension between the two of them. Sapphire steps away, straightening her already pin-straight shirt and nodding to me, a bit flushed. Sam seems perplexed, then turns to me, moving his tongue across his teeth in annoyance.

“Right. Dinner,” He starts, holding his arm out toward the elevator. “Ladies first,” He says. Sapphire passes him, and I start, but not before he’s already walking. I roll my eyes and trail behind the two of them onto the elevator. I guess I’m an exception when it comes to ladies.

We enter the somber dining hall, and Sapphire excuses herself to talk to a few of the other gardeners. Sam and I enter the line, and turnip stew is sloshed into our bowls. I grimace. The food in District 13 is blander than I thought it would be. With fresh vegetables and livestock, it doesn’t make sense for everything to be so unsatisfactory. I think back to twelve, how everything was freshly made and savory. Then I remember how sparse food was and stop my brooding.

We take our usual spot, Philip joining us. He’s less energized than normal, exhausted from the day’s training. He seems to dislike the turnip stew, because he twirls his spoon around before taking small bites. Food is still precious, and I want to build my strength, so I eat it all up straight away. Skipping lunch may not have been the best of ideas. Sam and Philip engage in conversation, and I choose not to participate, instead observing the dining hall. Everyone in thirteen has the same pale, sunken skin, people my age looking older than they are. Of course they do. They spent their childhoods in the middle of a warzone, many of them losing their parents. I’m no longer surprised by Sam’s mature appearance. 

The dining hall is buzzing with chatter, everyone immersed in discussions and talking about their days. There isn’t much for them to talk about, I realize, because everyone is on a routine schedule. Maybe I misinterpreted Sapphire’s kindness. She’s probably bored out of mind, working with the same people day in and day out. It’s not like an entirely new person comes in every day. I must be the first in months, maybe years.

Suddenly, a loud burst of sound blares through the dining hall, a melody echoing throughout the entire room. Upon closer hearing, I realize it’s not just any song, it’s Panem’s anthem.

_Gem of Panem_

_Mighty city_

_Through the ages you shine anew_

I expect people to begin standing up, as is customary in District 12, but most people sneer with disdain. The screens turn on and display the seal of the Capitol as the anthem quiets out.

“Jane, you’re about to experience your first ‘critical announcement,’” Philip chirps, leaning toward me with an amused expression on his face. He pops a grape into his mouth, which he must’ve snuck from the gardens. Chewing it, he says, “The mightiest, truest news of them all, streamlined directly from the one-hundred percent honest source of the Capitol.” He takes on the accent of the Capitol, making me laugh before the lights dim and the screens illuminate the dining hall. All goes quiet, and Lucretius Flickerman’s disturbing appearance fills the screen. A ripple of laughter comes from various tables, prompting a stern “Shh!” from an unknown whisperer.

Lucretius takes his standard dramatic form and begins talking in his thick, ridiculous accent. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Panem...” He takes on a look of feigned seriousness, which causes whispers to ebb their way through the room. “We welcome a very special guest tonight. Our guest has traveled far and wide across Panem, and his family has risen from the ashes of the district’s rebellion, once disgraced but regaining the greatness they once sought after. What do you say, Coriolanus?”

The screen switches to a wide shot of Coriolanus, and I let out a small gasp before clapping my hand over my mouth. How stupid of me! I’m supposed to play it cool! In case anyone noticed, I feign it as being confused at his normal appearance compared to those of other Capitol residents. I think it works, but I can’t help but feel as if someone is watching me. It must be the shock of seeing Coriolanus, because when I observe my surroundings everyone’s eyes are glued to the screen. I do the same, spooning a small chunk of turnip soup into my mouth, though it tastes like nothing. It’s hard to swallow, and my heart rate quickens as I break into a sweat. I wasn’t prepared to see him. I was trying to forget him, and now he’s here, provoking me. I can’t escape the grip of Coriolanus Snow, no matter how hard I try. 

“I am ecstatic that I can restore the honor to the Snow name,” Coriolanus says in response to Lucretius. His demeanor is odd, and there’s a hint of agitation in his voice. He dislikes having his family criticized on live television, especially when the entire Capitol is watching. “My father was a hero in the war and left my beloved cousin Tigris and I in the custody of my wonderful grandmother, Grandma’am.” His excessive use of adjectives is frustrating, but he will do whatever it takes to refute the insult Lucretius bestowed upon him. He may be weak, but he’s smart. Almost too smart. “We fell into poverty because of it, but Snow always lands on top. It took little work to reinstate the Snow name as a driving force of the Capitol.”

What a load of shit.

I bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing at the irony of Coriolanus’ statement. Not only are the appearances of people from the Capitol ludicrous, but their statements too. Coriolanus was laughing stock from years, he told me himself. He’s lying to make himself look desirable for the cameras. Lucky for him, the Capitol is foolish and believes everything anyone says. The people of District 13 are sure to recognize the lack of truth in his statements, given by Philip’s sarcasm when it came to describing the Capitol news channel. 

“How admirable,” Lucretius says, lowering his voice and faking a pout. “The son of a warrior claiming his fortune.” The audience claps, and the camera changes to a view of both Coriolanus and Lucretius flashing bright smiles toward the crowd. Coriolanus looks stronger than the last time I saw him, and his stature is proper, his skin tanner than normal. The Peacekeeper training did him well. Lucretius continues, “That’s not why we’re here though, is it?” The question is rhetorical, and Coriolanus doesn’t have to answer. He politely smiles at Lucretius. His every move is calculated, and I can almost see the wheels in his brain churning, working to determine the best route to take. “You’ve had quite the year, haven’t you?” Lucretius asks, and now Coriolanus is able to answer.

“Yes, I have. My experiences have been very rewarding, and I thank the guidance of Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom for the opportunities they’ve presented me. Their mentorship has aided in my rise to power greatly.” He flashes another award-winning smile toward the crowd, and I scowl at his cockiness. Anyone involved with the Games knows District 12 was the lowest rank to mentor, and Dean Highbottom despised Coriolanus. He gave him District 12 on purpose, meant to further disgrace the Snow name. That backfired on him, and now Snow can tie his success to the actions of this man. This won’t be good for Dean Highbottom, whose ego was already fragile. Dr. Gaul brought pain to Clemensia, testing the rainbow snake mutts on her. I believed Clemensia was a friend of Coriolanus, but maybe not. The rainbow snakes did help me in the arena, though, and were the turning point in my win. Suddenly, everything begins to make sense.

They didn’t mean to help him, but they did. Dean Highbottom assigned him to District 12, and Dr. Gaul created the snakes that I won because of. I wasn’t supposed to win, and the mutts weren’t supposed to be controlled by a tribute. He’s taunting them, and nobody knows but them. Me, too, but he doesn’t know I’m watching. His success isn’t the result of their actions, it’s the result of mine. I begin to feel sick, and I press my hand to my mouth to keep myself from dry heaving. Philip shoots me an odd look before Sam mutters under his breath, “You get used to the way they flaunt themselves. It’s sickening, but we find humor in it. They’re not as successful as they seem. We’re still here, aren’t we?”

I nod. District 13 is proof the Capitol has its weaknesses. No wonder I blend in so easily.

Lucretius looks into the crowd, microphone poised near his mouth that’s coated in indigo lipstick, making him look sick. “Well, we give our thanks to the lovely Dr. Gaul and infamous Dean Highbottom!” He announces, clapping his hands together with an exuberant, almost terrifying smile on his face. The audience erupts into applause again, giving both of them a moment to gather their bearings. People start to stand up from their benches, ridding of their dirty dishes and trash, but return back to their seats once they’re done. We’re able to leave the dining hall, but Capitol broadcasts don’t happen often. The applause quietens, then dissipates completely. Lucretius continues his serious, dramatic tone. “Now, Coriolanus, the Games.” I freeze. I silently beg the stars to protect me. I can’t risk being discovered, not while Coriolanus is gloating about his fame in the Capitol. There’d be no forgiveness, and I’d be exiled almost immediately. I can’t survive that fate. “You were the first ever mentor, and for a district such as District 12, producing a victor is most honorable. Now, District 12 is notorious for their poor performances in the Games.” The screen shows a recap of tributes from twelve perishing almost immediately, and I gag. Ignorance was bliss in District 12, so none of us had to stomach watching our friends get murdered on live television. Now, I’m watching my friends bodies get mangled, stabbed, bit, and mutilated. I wince, not wanting to watch my friends suffer. Luckily, other people are reacting this way, so I don’t look out of place. “In fact, they’ve been among the biggest losers compared to the other districts. You began to expect them to perish first in the arena,” Lucretius chuckles, as if the death of children is funny, and Coriolanus joins him, though he wears a quizzical expression. “That is, until you came along. Now, Coriolanus, you turned a district of losers into a district of victors. Well, one victor, but you understand me.” They erupt into laughter as my nervousness grows, and I begin to bite my fingernails. “Now, what was so different about Lucy Gray Baird that made a difference?”

There it was. My death sentence. I can hear it coming, feel Sam’s grip on my arm pulling me into the abyss as I plead for forgiveness, screaming that my past life is not who I am.

“Well, Lucretius, I think that boils down to me as a mentor,” Coriolanus says cooly, and I’m brought back to earth. I’m still here, at this table, and no one has said a thing. There’s not even a murmur as my name is called. He crosses his legs and leans in, while still looking wholly perfect. Proper, even, as if he spent his entire life training for this moment. “You see, behind every successful person, there’s a mentor. For me, my father, who’s spirit for the Capitol and drive to always succeed I inherited. Lucy Gray had no family. I mean, she traveled with a group of performers, but those aren’t real family, now are they?” He asks the crowd and they all nod accordingly. Anger boils in my chest. How can he do this? How can he slander my name like that, as if I’m not the reason he’s a success? I brought him to the top! I notice my nails cutting into my palm and I unclasp my hand, resting it on the cool surface of the table. “I had to gain her trust somehow. Now, don’t tell anyone. I know you can keep a secret, can’t you, Panem?” The crowd laughs at his joke. The world is watching him. There are no secrets. Only lies. “This wasn’t allowed, but sometimes rules need to be broken, don’t they? I would sneak food to Lucy, and from there on out she began to trust me, little by little. I told her everything she needed to survive, and it worked. She became my- our- victor. It is an honor to have been a driving force in her success.”

His expression is smug, as if he knows I’m watching and is taunting me. I lean in, fire in my eyes. I no longer care about Sam, or Phillip, or Sapphire. I don’t care about anything but getting justice and bringing honor to the name Lucy Gray. I lift my bowl and begin to raise my arm, poised to throw it at the screen, and Sam’s hand wraps around my wrist, nearly crushing it as he easily takes the bowl out of my grip, the last few droplets of soup sloshing onto the table in front of us. “Jane, stop!” He whispers, but a few tables hear him anyway. He shakes his head at them, directing their attention back to the screen. “I know it’s upsetting to hear what he’s saying and how he treats the districts, but you need to control your outbursts. You’re scaring some people, and if they express their discomfort to my uncle or President Adalia, we’ll both be in trouble. You don’t want that, you’re still in your probationary period.”

I guess he’s right. For once, I abide what he says and turn back to the screen. His grip on my hand stays, and I don’t mind it. We refocus on Coriolanus answering a question we missed during the ruckus. 

“Yes, Lucy’s stunt with the snakes surprised not only me, but the gamemakers as well. I still can’t decipher how she did it. I suppose she was experienced with snakes,” Coriolanus said. Yes, I was. I am. However, it's an entirely different breed of snake than the one in the arena. It was still Capitol-bred but devoid of color. White, like snow. Coriolanus Snow.

“Hm,” Lucretius mutters, as if he’s thinking of what to say next. They must know my act with the snakes is controversial and angered the Capitol. Their experiment didn’t work, much like their experiments with the jabberjays. They bred a whole new creature, the mockingjay. I’m like them. A failed experiment. I defied their experiment. Lucretius changes the subject, saying, “We heard you spent time in District 12 as a peacekeeper. Now why on earth would you do that? Was it to stay closer to your victor?”

Coriolanus takes the microphone from Lucretius. “Precisely,” He answers. Does anyone actually believe this? It’s common knowledge that being a peacekeeper is punishment. The only volunteers are people from District 2 who do it to escape poverty. “Sejanus Plinth and I both.” Everyone sighs at the mention of Sejanus. News of his death must’ve spread to the Capitol. As if they were pausing in remembrance, everything is silent. Lucretius puts a hand to his heart before Coriolanus heaves a great, conspicuous breath and continues. “My thoughts are with his family, and I thank them for their generosity in letting me reside with them and their constant support of my family.” Applause erupts, and I begin to think the Capitol will clap for anything. They think Coriolanus is a hero. He’s a murderer. And now he’s using Sejanus’ family, who don’t even know the truth. Sejanus was a traitor to the Capitol, but he was forced into a life of shame and abandon. He wanted to aid his people. Coriolanus caused his death. Sejanus could be beside me, but he isn’t. He hanged for his actions. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. The metallic taste in my mouth does nothing but fuel my anger as Coriolanus resumes his tale. “My time there was short, as I passed my officer’s test with flying colors. I was supposed to travel to District 2 to begin my training, but Dr. Gaul was so impressed by my exemplary performances as both a mentor and a peacekeeper that she wanted me to study advanced military strategies and appointed me as her apprentice for the Hunger Games. It is a great honor.”

What? He’s working for the Games? The realization that the Games never ended is starting to set in. I didn’t win. Being crowned victor is a lifetime sentence. At least in the Games, your death is, hopefully, short. If not, you’re still dead. It is a lot better than living a life where Coriolanus is rising to power. 

“Indeed it is. If only we could locate footage of your historic win!” Lucretius announces, and Coriolanus gives a nervous chuckle as the lights on the stage begin to dim. They must've got rid of the footage for my games. I proved myself too rebellious. “Now, Coriolanus… as a gamemaker, how would you say you view the games themselves?”

Coriolanus straightens up as if he’s been waiting for this question all night. With a grin, he says in the most professional of voices, “They’re a symbol of the Capitol’s power. That you can’t defeat us, how hard you try. The district’s lives our ours. I told Dr. Gaul that they’re a symbol of the eternal war, each district paying forward their dues. Their dues being tributes, to make up for the Capitol lives lost in the war. Every district deserves to pay for what they did to our glorious city. We are, as the anthem says, the gem of Panem.”

Applause roars so loud, it cracks in the speakers. Everyone is looking at the screens with a face of disgust. He justified the deaths of innocent children as “reparations” for a war that was long due. I don’t think he’ll ever be forgiven for that. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself!” Lucretius says. “Do you hear that, everybody! We are the Capitol, and you can never overthrow us!” He raises his hand and lets out a battle cry, and the audience follows. It is a terrifying sight, and I lean back as I take it all in. The Capitol is a barbaric, terrible place. Everyone there is evil. “Our time is almost up. Any last words, Coriolanus?”

Unexpectedly, Coriolanus stands up and takes the microphone from Lucretius’ hand. He steps toward the center of the stage and oversees the crowd. He cocks an eyebrow and says, “I want the districts to remember this. I want the Capitol to remember this. We cannot be overpowered. We embrace this new dawn with renewed dignity and strength. Furthermore,” He pauses, taking a breath and surveying every face that leans toward him, anticipating his next move. His eyes catch a camera, and I swear he is looking into my soul

“Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

The screens shut off as his last sentence ends and the lights turn on abruptly. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust, and my limbs are tired as I stretch and stand up. Philip throws his spoon into the bowl, splashing a bit of it onto his tray. “What a load of crap,” He scowls. “He admitted to enjoying watching the deaths of children on live television. What I would do to trample him to death.”

Philip is not the angry type. I would expect this sort of outburst from myself, maybe Sam, but never Philip. He and Sam head to the bins where we place our dirty dishes and retreat to our rooms. Philip bids goodbye to Sam and I as Sam accompanies me to my living quarters. He stops at my door. “Philip is from District 5. He came a few years ago. His brother was reaped one year and was slaughtered within the first five minutes. He didn’t take it lightly.”

My heart aches for him. I can’t imagine having to endure that, especially in the safety of District 13. “I thought you didn’t watch the games?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, not regularly, but you can catch glimpses. I think President Adalia felt sorry for him, because he was granted extra time off after he heard of his brother’s reaping. The first thing he saw the morning of the games was his brother’s death. It put him into shock and we weren’t sure he’d ever be excused from the mental unit. Obviously, he was, but it took a long time for him to heal from the horrors he witnessed.”

I can tell I look upset because Sam places a hand on my shoulder. For the first time, I don’t jump. “I never would’ve guessed… Maybe you should’ve let me throw the bowl. I’m sure it would’ve made him happy.”

Sam actually laughs at my suggestion. His smile is big and reveals a perfect set of teeth, making him even more handsome than he already is. I remember I don’t like him and instantly block out kind thoughts about him. “Yeah, I’m sure he would’ve loved that. He enjoys your spunk, you know.” The lights begin their gradual shift to the dull, almost nonexistent glow they take as our bedtime approaches. “Well, I better head to my quarters. Sleep well, Jane. I’ll see you in the morning.” He excuses himself and walks down the hallway onto the elevator. I watch as the doors close and he slips away. I shake my head slightly and retreat into my own room.

As expected, there is a door in my bathroom that leads to a shower. I step in and rinse my hair off before taking the bar of soap and scrubbing layers of grime off myself and removing the dirt under my nails. I squeeze some of the frothy soap from a bottle in my hand and rub it through my hair. It's been due for a wash for weeks. I’m not sure how I’ll dry it, seeing as there’s nothing but air. I guess my curls will have to be frizzier than usual. I’m not that bothered, though, because it’s always up or in a hastily made braid anyway.

There are no towels in the bathroom, meaning I’m left to air dry. I shake the droplets of water off my body before slipping on the pajamas they provided me, using the top to soak up some of the extra water out of my hair before I lay down for bed. Luckily, wearing a wet shirt to sleep doesn’t matter, because you won’t catch hypothermia here. In the event you do, there are hospitals for you to go to that’ll patch you right up. 

I crawl under the covers, and thoughts of Philip’s past invade my mind. He’s such a carefree guy. You’d have no idea what he’d been through if you weren’t told. I didn’t. I compare him and Sam. Philip was a refugee and lost his brother, yet his stature and personality are that of someone who never experienced any hardships. Sam was raised in thirteen with warrior parents who died fighting for their cause. He’s as tough as rocks. He has reason to be as harsh as he is, but Philip is proof you can go through unimaginable loss and still have a shred of kindness. 

I’m not being fair to Sam. I know that. He’s just doing his job. He was raised to be in the military; Philip had a life before thirteen. They’re two entirely different people. But then I begin to think of Sapphire and get confused. She’s from District 13 and lived through the war too, and there’s not a mean bone in her body. Something must’ve happened to Sam that no one knows about that led him to be this way.

Thinking about Sam and Sapphire is making me confused. I wonder if they’re together or if they were just being playful in the gardens earlier today. They were definitely flirting, that’s for sure. Sapphire is more than obvious around him and she was quick to defend him, too. I think about how Sam’s smile made me feel before he went to his own room. It won’t leave my head. It’s like a bug bite. Itching away at me, getting worse the more attention you give it. Bites go away eventually, but I fear this won’t. I shift under the covers and redirect my thoughts back to Sapphire and Sam’s behavior. They must’ve had a fling before I got here.

Before?! It could quite possibly be ongoing. I’m confusing myself even more, because now thinking of them stirs a feeling I don’t understand. Distaste. Admiration. Envy. All of these emotions aren’t good for me, and neither is feeling anything for either of them. Not when I have so much at stake, not when Coriolanus is on track to become one of the Capitol’s driving forces. I wonder if my name will ever leave his mouth. His grip on my identity is like a viper. He is poisonous and, if I don’t escape in time, deadly. Escaping him once is difficult, but attainable. Escaping a viper twice is sheer luck.

Birds may be the only creatures able to truly escape a viper’s grasp. They have the ability to take flight and escape way up in the sky. I suppose I’m a bird, in the event no one in thirteen ever puts the pieces together. 

Coriolanus must hate me. I would hate me. I escaped the Capitol, and then I escaped him. I think back to what he said about the games, about how they’re the continuation of the never-ending war between the districts. How our lives are property of the Capitol. He’s right, we can never escape the games. Even if you win. I wonder when the nightmares will start. How will I explain to thirteen why I wake up screaming every night? Does Philip suffer from the same fate?

I awake the next morning feeling more tired than I did the night before. Sam pulls me aside after breakfast and tells me our work together is done. I’ve been cleared and am only being asked to work on my temper. I agree, but I’m sad that we won’t be working together anymore. I figured we’d have at least a week. He was actually bearable yesterday. 

Before he goes, I stop him. “Hey, so now that I’m considered safe enough to be independent, am I going to get military training?”

He scoffs, but there’s a genuine kindness to him. “Eventually. Probably a month or two from now... I’d be happy to train you.”

Our eyes meet, and I freeze. “Really?” I ask. I thought he hated me.

“Really,” He confirms, and we smile at each other. Maybe I’ve made another friend here, and he was only rude because he had to establish some sort of dominance. Or maybe he’s tricking me. Sam turns in the doorway again, but he lingers once more. “Oh, by the way, you can still sit with Philip and I in the dining hall. You’re good company.”

He leaves, and I’m standing alone in the dining hall. I head to the elevator to descend to the gardens with a new outlook on life in thirteen.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite the controlled climate in thirteen, autumn harvests flourish in October. I expected them to perform all the same every season, but each harvest is different. The leaves on the trees don’t fall off- there’s a solution that prevents them from doing so- but they do change color, and it brings a festive mood to the gardens. Everyone is working harder now that the vegetation is ready for harvest. It’s one of the best in years, Sapphire says. I believe her, because our portions at dinner grow and the food tastes better. We’re all fattening up before the winter like bears before hibernation. The talk around the district is that winter brings illness and a lack of fresh vegetation, so it's best to eat as much as you can before December hits. It’s paradoxical, really, because our food intake is still controlled. They’re larger, but you can’t ask for seconds.

I approach Sam and Philip with my tray in hand, carrying a large plate of creamy pasta with broccoli and a glass of water. The noodles are handmade in the kitchen from flour supplied by the grains in the garden. When Philip sees me he holds up a hand for a high-five, and I slap his hand as hard as I can after setting my tray down.

“Agh! You’re stronger than you look!” He cries, rubbing his hand tenderly. I laugh and pop a piece of broccoli into my mouth. Sam frowns at me. Over the months he’s become more bearable, but there are moments I remember why I hate him. Well, my feelings about him are conflicting, and I ignore them the best I can because they’re difficult to understand. He sits with Philip, though, so I bear him to be around my friend.

“Rule twelve, don’t judge a person’s strength by their appearance.” I recite the military handbook Philip snuck me, and he looks impressed. Sam is just annoyed. 

“Look at you. Strong and smart enough for the military. You’ll pass the test with flying colors,” Philip says as a group of girls pass him, giggling. He waves at them flirtatiously, and I can’t help but guffaw at his actions. Only Philip would do that. 

I stop mid-bite, the flavors of the pasta much more delightful than the bland turnip stew we were eating just two months ago. “Test?” I ask, looking between Philip and Sam. “What test? I haven’t even begun training yet.”

“There’s a test you take after your training is complete, if you pass you’re inducted and are officially referred to as ‘soldier.’ It’s not hard, but you continue your assigned jobs as usual unless we need a task force. That’s usually unnecessary, but it’s good to have the majority of the district prepared for anything. The Capitol is unpredictable, especially with Dean Highbottom dead and Snow rapidly climbing the ranks. I wonder how he’s doing it,” Sam answers, eyes glued to the television as if it's going to blare the anthem at any moment. Philip is lost in thought before he jumps.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? All these Capitol figures are ‘mysteriously’ dying, most from supposedly natural reasons. Each death raises Coriolanus’ rank. They’re his competitors, and suddenly they’re all dropping dead? He could be president in no time.” 

I pause. Coriolanus, president? Things are getting worse than I thought they could. “Do you really think he could do that?” I ask, and I sound more aggravated than I meant to. “I mean, he’d have to assassinate President Ravenstill. Someone would have to recognize that every person above his rank drops dead.”

Sam shakes his head. “You overestimate the intelligence of the Capitol,” He says through a forkful of pasta. He covers his mouth before continuing, “They’re not the kind to look into those kinds of things. They’ll be sad, sure, but they won’t notice Coriolanus slithering up the ranks. If they do, they’ll look back at his interview and admire his authority. He’s smart, he’ll be president in no time. It doesn’t affect us either way.”

“It might,” I mutter, staring at the dirt under my hands from a long day’s work. Everything is in full bloom, so we’re working non-stop every day. It’s tiring, but I’ve gotten to know the other gardeners and they make good company. Sapphire is a good leader, but she tends to overexert herself and that’s not good for anyone. I’m one of the only people who notices, because she and I are closer than the others, but I can tell she’s exhausting herself and on the brink of collapsing by the end of each day.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam asks, and he sounds irritated. I know I’ve offended him with that statement, but it’s true. Coriolanus rising to power could hurt thirteen in a way like no other.

I shrug nonchalantly. “You heard what he said about the games. He thinks the war is ongoing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he demanded our involvement,” I explain, and Philip rolls his eyes.

“Please. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. The district signed a peace treaty. In return for our surrender, the Capitol can’t involve us in the Hunger Games. That doesn’t stop them from bombing us when they feel like it, but they can’t murder our children,” He says. “At least, not purposely,” Philip adds, and I stare at him. District 13’s survival is a miracle. They don’t have to sacrifice their children, there’s enough food for everyone, and we’re all treated as equals. It’s a district version of the Capitol. I try not to scowl as this thought crosses my mind. District 13 has grown on me, and I’m grateful for all they’ve done, but I can’t help but compare it to the Capitol, and their lack of help to the districts upsets me. “Oh! By the way,” Philip starts again. “You’ve gotten your pass to begin military training. Under Sam.” He says that last bit with a wink.

I look to Sam with wide eyes. “Really?” I’m surprised the time has come so soon, but he did say I’d have to wait a few months. The weeks have gone by faster than I’ve noticed.

“Yup,” Sam answers, plain and simple. “Bright and early tomorrow in place of your usual time in the gardens. You’ll spend half the day with me, the rest you’ll spend working as normal.”

Excitement spreads throughout me. Sam is the lieutenant, meaning he’s second best. His only competitor is his uncle, but their family, so they’re seen as equals. He deserves to be promoted to commander in my mind. He’s hard on me, but there’s a softness to him too. Everyday it's different. Philip and I should start betting on what mood he’s going to be in. Sam is utterly confusing, like my feelings for him. 

Ugh! I press a palm to my head, blocking out these thoughts. I’ve developed a habit of ignoring any thoughts that were more than friendly about him. It wouldn’t do me any good. I choose to smile at him and say, “I’m glad. It must be an honor to train under someone as skilled as you.”

He’s perplexed by my statement, as if being complimented isn’t something he’s used to. I’m not sure how. Every girl in the district fawns over him, with his strength and looks. He’s charmed all of District 13 and doesn’t even know it. “Erm… thanks,” He says awkwardly, crumpling up his napkin and throwing it on his trays. “Means a lot.” He stands up and nods toward Philip and I. “Well… I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Sam maunders through the dining hall, looking straight ahead as he throws away his trash and walks straight through the door. What odd behavior.

Philip wriggles his eyebrows at me. “Looks like someone got to old Sammy boy,” He teases in a sing-song voice. I playfully punch him in the arm, sending both of us into laughter.

“Be quiet. He despises me,” I say, twisting a curl that hangs out of my bun while I stare at my tray. What does Philip mean, I got to Sam? Is he really that unused to compliments, or did something I said earlier strike a nerve. A girl with blonde hair passes us, the broccoli on her plate pushed aside and casts a dirty look my way. I wonder what that was about. “Besides, even if he doesn’t hate me, he certainly doesn’t like me. Every day he’s different.”

Philip chuckles at my predicament. “It’s because you’re an enigma,” He says matter-of-factly. “You confuse him. He can’t strip you down and know you better than you know yourself. He can with everyone else… you’re a frustration. A distraction, too. It’s not every day we get someone as beautiful as you!”

I groan loudly, causing the table next to us to shoot confused looks our way. I wave them back. “Shut up!” I say in response to his teasing. I know he doesn’t mean it in a romantic way, and I’m glad. Philip is the one person I understand in District 13. Sapphire too, but she puzzles me nearly as much as Sam. Working so close to her has made me idealize her, like I did with Coriolanus. This is different. At least, I hope it’s different. 

I wake up the next morning refreshed and ready for training. I’m excited, because I’ve memorized the handbook and am ready to get some hands-on action. Sam greets me at the door, and a sense of deja-vu washes over me. This is just like my first week in thirteen.

“Good morning, soldier,” He greets me. I give him a funny look. “That’s what you’ll be referred to once your training is done, I thought I told you. I’m sure other people have already made the mistake of calling you that before. Either way, get used to it.” We walk together down the hallway to an elevator, passing by three people who are dressed in the medic uniforms.

“What’re they doing up here?” I ask. Sam punches in a few numbers on a keypad before selecting a button that sends the elevator flying to the left and upwards. 

“Someone in your area is sick. We have to quarantine them to prevent an outbreak,” Sam explains, and we grab onto the railing as the elevator takes an unexpected turn. “I saw you watching me type in the keypad. Only a few people have access to the training rooms since that’s where all the guns are stored. It's unlikely someone would try to steal them, but the possibility is there so we take the precaution.”

“Huh,” I mumble, just as the elevator comes to a halt and we enter the training center. There are targets propped up everywhere, and various weapons line the walls around us. Guns, bows, and knives hang from small pegs. Sam walks straight over to the guns, grabbing two longer ones with buttons I don’t recognize. He weighs them in his hands before he nonchalantly tosses one to me, and I scramble to catch it in my hands. “Hey!” I exclaim, just barely seizing it before it scrapes the ground.

Sam laughs at me. “The safety is on. Nothing would’ve happened.” I still roll my eyes. There are a few vests laying around, and they’re thicker than they look. I set the gun on a table and strap on the vest, mimicking Sam’s movements. When I’m completely strapped in and the gun is back in my hands, he directs me to one of the targets. We stand in front of a beautiful green scene projected by a hologram, the target shaped like a body. He directs my arms, and I notice how heavy the gun is. “You get used to it,” He tells me as my arm sags from the weight of both the vest and the gun. I hope so.

Sam flips a switch on the side of the gun. “Now the safety is off. See?” He aims his gun at the target and shoots, causing me to jump. I wasn’t expecting him to do that. The gunshot was loud, and my ear rings, causing me to paw at it. “You get used to that too.” The target was struck right in the head. He’s as good as everyone says he is. I underestimate him. “Now,” He says, readjusting my arms. Holding the gun is easier now that I’m used to the weight, but not much. “Look where you want to shoot and position your arms. Then, pull the trigger.” He steps back and I focus, narrowing my eyes as I stare directly at the head Sam shot. I pull the trigger, the noise causing an aching sensation in my ears as I lower the gun and look. I completely missed it. I try not to feel disappointed, but I know my face is betraying me. “You were only off to the right a few inches. Just angle your arms better,” Sam says, encouraging me to move forward.

I do. I shoot again and again, but I miss it every time. I have a few close calls, but by the end of the hour I’ve yet to strike the target. Sam is getting frustrated, but he’s good at hiding it. I suppose when he’s teaching something that’s his forte, he lightens up. 

Sam walks back up to me after observing my position for a bit, and tells me to stop. “Here, I think it's the position of your feet. Move back a little bit- there, you’re good to stop- then to your right. Okay, now try.” I instinctively raise my gun and he jumps away. “Hey! Not when you can clip half my face off.”

I laugh, and so does he. I’m sure we both expect me to shoot him at one point. Good thing I’m a terrible shot.

I focus my attention on the target, ignoring the black marks caused by my failed attempts. Everything slows, and I can hear my heart beat. I aim the barrel at the head, taking deep breaths. I count backwards in my head. Three, two, one… my finger pulls back the trigger and the gun cocks backward. I pause, then look at the target. I got it straight in the head. 

“Wow,” Sam whistles. “I was not expecting it to be that easy.” 

We practice shooting some more, and Sam joins in, practicing his own shots. He’s showing off, but I don’t mind. I can watch him and learn. I do that, copying the position of his feet and how he carries the gun, and soon I’m hitting the target. My first shot was the best, but I’m no longer sending bullets into the wall like I was an hour ago. 

After we’re both sweating and my arms feel like jelly, Sam calls it a day. I’m glad, because it feels like I could drop the gun at any moment.

As we walk back toward the wall, I look around and notice that there’s no one else here. That’s odd, because the training center is huge. It covers the entire floor, so it could take hours to go through every station and weapon in the room. The area designated for just shooting only takes up a small chunk of the floor.

I think of the lack of complete families that I see here. There are hardly any children, and those that I do see all huddle together as if they’re all they have to survive. I suppose their parents died in the war. It doesn’t make sense, though, because the war ended over ten years ago and these children are young. “Why are there no families here?” My curiosity beats me, and I remember Sapphire mentioning Sam’s parents to me. I slap my hand over my mouth. It smells of the metal on the gun, and I shiver. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” I begin to apologize, but Sam cuts me off.

“No, it's fine. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice,” Sam says, placing a gun back in its holder. He sighs before turning to me, removing his protective vest. His arms are toned, I can tell because he flexes them while he slips off the vest. I wonder if it was on purpose. His voice is muffled as he says, “A lot of families died during the rebellion, leaving only their children. When we first went underground, there were a lot of refugees from the districts or the Capitol. They brought heaps of children and we took them in. President Adalia could never turn kids away. A lot of the adults that came were ill or seriously injured, so they died soon after. Then there were people like Philip, who were only able to escape their districts without their family members. I think he tried, and that’s what eats him up inside. He thinks he should’ve dragged him out of District 5. Philip is convinced his brother would still be alive, had he done that. His father was on the brink of death, and his mother could never leave him behind. Philip knew they would miss him, but they would heal after time. Time heals all wounds.” He sighs sadly, as if there’s more to the story. He stares at the gun in my hands and gently takes it, hanging it next to his. He pauses. “The same thing happened to me. My parents died during the rebellion,” Sam explains, and my heart aches for him. I know what it's like to not have parents. He strides toward me and begins to unbuckle my belt, his hands lingering on my shoulders before he hastily pulls them away. “It was devastating. I was only six, maybe seven, I can’t remember. My parents were in a Capitol raid. I remember my mother kissed me on the cheek before they were dispatched, and she promised to come home safe because I was crying. I never cried when I was younger. Then they left and never came back.” Sam is getting choked up, and I have a sinking feeling. I know I caused this. Sure, I was only curious, but curiosity has its consequences. Against my better judgment, I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He appreciates the gesture. Sam’s voice is low as he continues, “There was a problem in the Capitol. Peacekeepers were hidden everywhere, and they say bullets started flying and ricocheting toward every soldier. Only one survived, and that was my uncle. He watched as my parents were killed. Then, when he came back, he was the one that told me. I was devastated, but I pretended to be strong to honor their memory. My uncle knew, but he let me act as if I was immune to grief anyway. I never truly coped with it. That’s why people think I’m so powerful. They see the tragedy in my life and think, ‘how has he managed all these years?’ The truth is, they’re my driving force. Once I was old enough I immersed myself in my studies and became the best warrior the district has seen since my parents and uncle. Uncle Coin says he thinks I’m better than him. I only believe so because I can remove my emotions in an instant. It’s what I have to do to survive.” He looks solemn, lost in a distant memory.

I don’t know how to react. Here Sam is, opening up to me despite having a deep rooted dislike of me. Perhaps he doesn’t, but the way he’s acted for the last two and a half months says otherwise. When the Covey relayed our stories, we sang our grief away. I’m not sure how to comfort someone as hard as Sam, whose emotions are rarely fleshed out. So I do the only thing I can think of. I hug him.

Surprisingly, he hugs me back. It’s awkward, and probably against some dystopian District 13 law, but at this moment I don’t care. Sam is someone I respect- although he gets on my nerves- and deserves comfort. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and I feel him sink into my embrace.

When we disconnect, I see how puffy his eyes are. He quickly wipes his eyes, removing any evidence of crying. Hiding his emotions again. I don’t want him to, because that’s dangerous and showing your emotions is one of the beautiful things about being a human, even if it is looked down upon. I reach forward to stop him, but he grips my arm with his other one. He looks down at me, mystifying, and says, “You confuse me, Jane.”

I’m brought back to reality. He doesn’t even know who I am. Lucy Gray, as far as I know, is dead. Somehow, I’m bothered by this. Coriolanus has brought shame upon my name, and now I’m a whole new person. I like the Lucy I am more than I like the Lucy I was. My gaze changes to Sam, and his grey eyes pierce mine. I shake myself out of it. What am I doing? _I_ confuse me. I don’t know why I do half the things I do around him. I slip off my vest completely and hang it on the rack, breaking our contact. 

“I should get going. It's almost time to eat.” I say, and my voice is shaky. Sam shrugs in agreeance, and I know our time-out is over. I nod at him and walk through the automatic door, not looking back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late updates! School started and I've been extraordinarily busy.

Sapphire greets me as I enter the garden. She waves excitedly before approaching me. “How was your first day of training?” She asks enthusiastically, and I prepare to have her talk my ear off. Not that I mind, but once she gets going, it’s hard to get her to stop. She gets lonely here, with no one but the plants to listen.

I shrug. “It was alright. I only became decent near the end. I think the wall took more shots than the actual target.” We both laugh at that. I grab a pair of gloves and a shovel along with a wheelbarrow to push toward the food we’re to harvest. Sapphire offers to grab it, and I let her. My arms are tired after holding up a gun for so long. “Sam probably pities me. You’d think surviving in the woods for so long would prepare me for this.”

Sapphire groans, “Ugh. I totally get it. I was the worst shot. I think they realized I was a lost cause and passed me out of sympathy. It’s fine, though, because now I’m in the gardens. It’s my element.” She holds her hand out to the ceiling and moves it dramatically. “A blessing in disguise,” she muses, and I half-expect her to go on a tangent about the different fruits and vegetables, but she quiets after. Her shoulders slump while we walk along the garden, approaching the beetroots we’re to harvest today. “Sorry. I should be quiet,” she mutters, and I pause in my tracks.

“What?” I say. Sapphire isn’t prone to this type of behavior. In fact, she loves filling the gaps in conversations. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

She shakes her head and fiddles with her fingers. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It's been a hard few weeks.” She sighs and gets on her knees, beginning to move dirt around with her bare hands as she tends to the carrots in front of her. I stand awkwardly for a few moments. She’s burning out, and I dislike seeing her like this. I shake my head and lean down, my knees pressing into the loose dirt that covers the floor. It’s the only place in thirteen that isn’t polished to perfection. They tried, but the dirt persisted. The garden sticks out like a sore thumb. That must be why I like it. We’re both the odd ones out.

I can tell Sapphire doesn’t want to talk, and I’m not going to push her. Instead, I rake through the dirt with my fingernails, searching for plants to uproot. My fingers run over the fragile greens of a carrot and I grasp it tightly, loosening the soil around it with my other hand as I pull the vegetation out of its home, dirt falling into the crevice it made. I continue on to the next carrot and start a pile next to me and look over to Sapphire, her pile three times the size of mine and rapidly growing as she harvests the carrots with an expert hand. I smile to myself before continuing my work. 

We continue this for an hour, both drenched in sweat once we’ve finished as we survey the empty pasture in front of us and the mountains of carrots next to us. I wipe my brow, panting under the hot, synthetic sun. Sapphire was quiet the entire time, and I’m worried about her. “Hey,” I start as she gathers a bag of soil and shovels in her arms. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but… are you sure you’re doing alright?” Her expression is pained, and I immediately regret asking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you-” I start, but she interrupts me.

“No, you’re fine,” Sapphire begins, groaning as she places a heavy bag of soil over her shoulder. She begins walking forward, motioning for me to follow her. I gather pails in my arms and do as I’m told. We’re quiet for a bit before she explains, “I’m just tired. All this work is catching up to me, I guess.” She shrugs before kicking a few stray rocks aside, their rattling echoing through the large building. “With all my years here, you’d think it gets easier. Nope!” She laughs then, something magical, and I can’t help but chuckle with her. “No, but really. It is a lot. Oh, Greene, there are piles of carrots back there that Jane and I harvested, do you mind picking them up and transporting them to the kitchen? I’ll document the numbers. Thanks.” Greene nods and passes us, shooting me a dirty look. It seems Sapphire has taken a liking to me and doesn’t give me the hard jobs. They usually fall on Greene’s back, anyway. Not that he doesn’t listen to her. No one dares to disobey Sapphire down here. 

We set down our items and Sapphire sits on a bench, patting the seat and scooting over before putting her hands on her face, pushing sweaty strands of hair back. “I miss the outdoors,” She says, quiet enough that I have to strain my ears to hear her. “I haven’t gone since I was fifteen. I’m not even sure how long it’s been. Too long.”

I can’t imagine what it's like to live in complete solitude underground. I haven't been outside in months, and I’m already yearning to get a breath of fresh air. I try not to think that my arrival here was my last true breath of fresh air. “Well, is there a way you can go outside? I know when I got here, Sam was outside, as were a few other soldiers,” I suggest, then I feel stupid for saying that. Of course Sam is allowed out, he's the lieutenant. Everyone here is as pale as a sick person in District 12, everyone except him and a few others. Even President Adalia’s skin has taken on a gray tone.

Sapphire rolls her eyes, but I know it's not directed at me. “Sam is Sam. He can do what he pleases. Plus, he gets particularly stir-crazy. That’s probably why he was a jackass to you at first- you disrupted his ‘me’ time. He was rather outdoorsy as a child,” She says, picking at a loose thread on her uniform. Instinctively, I reach out my hand to stop her, then hesitantly pull it away. I don’t know why, but I’ve clammed up. Sapphire pretends not to notice. “He claims they’re air quality checks. To see how much radiation is still around.” I nod, connecting the dots. Of course the Capitol used nuclear weapons to make it look like they took the district down. They knew thirteen could do the same. Her lips twist to the side and she clicks her mouth. “Most people believe him. I don’t.” I give her a confused look. Why wouldn’t she believe him? Isn’t it common knowledge that everything the lieutenant says is to be trusted? It’s sardonic, now that I think about it. 

For the first time in a while, I think of Coriolanus. I trusted everything he said, and look how that turned out. My mood turns sour. “Why don’t you believe him?” I finally ask, and Sapphire looks at me, her shoulders hunched and the usual twinkle in her eye gone.

“We’re more alike than it seems, you know,” She says in an attempt to offrail the conversation. “Sam and I, I mean.” I still don’t budge. “Fine. We only need to do radiation checks, like, every three years or something like that. He just gets stir crazy- we all do- and he takes advantage of it. It's what he has to do to survive.”

It is at this moment I notice the sickly, pale color of Sapphire’s skin. It is the same as everyone else’s, but something about hers sticks out. It's more sad, out of place, even. Physically, she’s alive, but it's hard to mentally survive for so long when you’re torn away from something you love. I imagine a younger Sapphire climbing up the trees, jumping into piles of leaves, and rejoicing in the breeze on a hot summer’s days. A lump rises in my throat as I remember the Covey. I wonder if they still think about me. Part of me hopes they don’t. I abandoned them. Like Coriolanus abandoned me. Like the Capitol abandoned Coriolanus. It's a cycle of unforgivable actions, like a spinning wheel. Going round and round until the string pulls taut. I realize I’ve zoned out and snap back into reality, attempting to ignore the guilt that’s begun to seep to the depths of my being. “What if it's what you need to survive, too?” I ask, and Sapphire shrugs again.

“It’s too bad. Sam gets special privileges, I don’t. I’m just a measly gardener anyway.”

I feel personally offended by Sapphire’s self-deprecation, so I stop her before she can say anything else. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re more than just a gardener. Plus, you’re the best one. Not only that, but you’re kind and accepting and a great friend.” Sapphire opens her mouth to object, but I stop her, speaking quietly and staring at the ground. “You were one of the first people to show me kindness here. I didn’t forget that.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, taking in my sentiment. “‘You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late,’” she muses, staring out at nothing, a blank look in her eyes. Sapphire sighs before wiping off her jumpsuit, irrevocably dirty from years spent rummaging through dirt and rocks, and standing up. She holds a hand out to me and cocks her head to the side. “Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was a poet I liked.”

“Ah,” I say as if the name rings a bell. It doesn’t. I take her hand and notice the soil caked underneath her fingernails. Like the stains on her jumpsuit, her nails never seem to get clean, despite her constant scrubbing. Just one more thing to stifle you in District 13. Clean but still dirty. Rested but still tired. I never noticed the impact a lack of sunshine could have. To a newcomer, the sun in here is a real deal. To someone who's been here a while, it's just a carefully crafted fluorescent light. 

The younger children here have never taken a breath of fresh air. Something about that troubles me, so I push it to the back of my mind and follow Sapphire. We ascend to the living quarters, and she instantly makes a beeline to her room, muttering a speedy goodbye as she passes me. I stand awkwardly in front of the elevator for a few seconds before an exasperated woman pushes past me, entering the machine. I give her my apologies before setting off to my room to clean up before dinner. 

The door opens and I enter my room, embracing the familiarity of it. It's the one thing in thirteen that truly feels like me. Every living quarter is the same, but I’ve hardly been in anyone else’s, so this room feels like my own. 

I take my hair out of a bun and let my curls fall in coils on my head. I shake my hands through my hair to relieve some of the achiness in my head when the small television switches on by itself. “That’s strange,” I say to myself, but pay no mind as I enter my bathroom to examine my shoulder, pained by the labor of the day. This is one of the times I curse the lack of mirrors in the living quarters. I can’t closely examine my shoulder, so it's up to my peripheral vision to look at it. Lucretius Flickerman’s voice floats through the air, and I roll my eyes, pulling the sleeve of my jumpsuit back down. I’ll have to get used to the weight of the gun on my shoulder eventually. The loudness I can’t do much for, if the throbbing in my ears says anything. I run cold water over my hands before splashing it onto my face, wiping away any tiredness with it. I tie my hair back up and check the clock. Thirty minutes before dinner. I realize that it isn’t routine for me to be here, meaning Sapphire left early. I wonder why she let me leave with her. 

Because the TV is on, I decide to slip under the covers of my bed, the sheets freshly washed and smelling of lavender. I give myself this time to relax. I deserve it, now that I’m training with Sam.

An idea sparks in my head. Sam! Of course! I can ask him to bring Sapphire along next time they go up to the mainland. A warm feeling spreads throughout me, and I’m excited to see how Sapphire reacts when I give her my surprise. That is, if Sam says yes, but why wouldn’t he? Him and Sapphire are close, and he knows more than anyone just how much she deserves a break. All of us do, but she puts in more effort on an average day than most of the gardeners do in a month. That goes to show how much she’s doing now.

My dreams are interrupted when a familiar voice floats through my room, now dark. How long was I asleep for? I didn’t have the mind to turn the television off- I’d assumed it would turn off itself- and the light blinds me as my eyes adjust to the intrusion. I sniff once, twice, then register the figures on the screen in front of me. Once again, Lucretius and Coriolanus are putting on quite a show. I look to the clock beside me and realize it is past bedtime, and my stomach grumbles for my missed dinner. Intrigued, I sit up, pulling the covers to my shoulders and staring intently at the screen. The audience is laughing at an offhand joke Coriolanus made, and he appears pristine as ever. He’s practically glowing, covered in a black and red suit made most definitely by the most expensive of fabrics, his hair styled into perfect curls, and a new addition to the snakelike smile he wears, his lips puffier than usual. Unintentionally, my body leans toward the television. Lucretius flashes a bright smile before bringing the microphone to his blue-painted lips.

“Well, well, what a show you’ve brought tonight!” He exclaims, fanning himself with silver fingers, coated in artificial dust to give him the appearance of a higher being. To me, he looks dumb. I’ll never understand the mindset of the Capitol, what they find attractive and what they don’t find attractive. Obnoxious depictions of wealth far outweigh the truth of poverty. Mockery seems to be the most inviting of trends: they love to show the districts just how bad we have it. I’m boiling, I realize. My breathing has gotten heavy and an intense rage spreads throughout me, one unmatched since Coriolanus’ first interview all those months ago. I return my attention to the screen, Lucretius’ brow now furrowed as he continues to interview Coriolanus. “What a ride it has been for you, my boy!” Lucretius’ claps Coriolanus on the shoulder. “Your ascent to fame has not gone unnoticed… in the face of such tragic times, you have shown the Capitol your true alliance. Take a bow, take a bow!” Lucretius chants, taking Coriolanus’ hand and guiding him off his chair, motioning toward the middle of the stage where Coriolanus bends over, bowing graciously, before retreating back to his seat.

His voice is different than I remembered it. It’s strong, cunning, all of the things he must be to survive. Personal survival is a necessity in Panem. “Rising in the face of adversity has always been a talent of the Snow’s,” He answers cooly, as if that was common knowledge. “Tragedy has struck the Capitol. There is an invisible evil, and I vow to find it. As the new commander in chief of our military forces, I will do everything in my power to stop the menace that attempts to tear down our beloved city.”

The audience is encaptivated by him, utterly stunned by his words of grace and affection toward the Capitol. They’ve got no idea the silent evil could be him. If Sam could figure it out, surely someone in the Capitol would? Doesn’t everyone notice that once someone perishes, Coriolanus replaces them? They’re martyrs. 

Lucretius plays on the emotions of the audience, grasping his chest and sticking out his lip in adoration. “How dedicated,” He whispers, bringing the microphone back to his lips. “The Capitol is appreciative of your wholeheartedness.” Lucretius then looks at the crowd and stands, grasping Coriolanus’ arm as he stands as well, holding their arms up in unity. “Coriolanus Snow, everybody!” Lucretius exclaims in excitement, a bright smile on his face. Coriolanus scans the crowd, a look in his eye I can’t quite place. There’s a smug smile gracing his features, and he raises his hands, palms facing toward the audience.

“Now wait, my friend. We seem to be forgetting a special gift I’ve brought, courtesy of Dr. Gaul,” He whispers into the microphone. Despite his quietness, everyone can hear him. The crowd has drawn itself silent, everyone leaning forward in their seats to become recipients of his prize. Coriolanus paces on the stage, flexing his hands as he puts the audience under his spell. He clears his throat, and then, “Now, we all remember the disappearance of this year’s Hunger Games. How tragic it was. History in its making has gone without a trace. My humble victory-” I scoff at Coriolanus’ definition of humble, which he most certainly isn’t- “has lost itself entirely. Until now.”

I feel the color drain from my face and everything sharpens around me. My games have come back? The blanket of safety that the disappearance of the files provided has been ripped away, leaving me cold, shivering, and wholly exposed. Once again, I am trapped in the snow.

Surely, no one else is watching this late. It's normal for our TVs to glitch once in a while, non-important broadcasts flashing on screen. We all ignore them, using the remote with few buttons to switch off the screen. Still, I worry.

“Well, well, are we going to see a snippet of your mockingjay?”

Coriolanus, though he tries to hide it, grimaces at the mention of a mockingjay. Lucretius means me. I know how much Coriolanus despised the mockingjays, and for me to be referred to as one, well… it’s ironic. Coriolanus shakes off his disgust and clarifies, “To an extent. We located a recording of my victor’s reaping.”

“Oh, where she pulled the trick with a snake?”

Coriolanus huffs, his pristine demeanor weakening as Lucretius’ prodding grows more and more irritating. “No, not her stunt with the snake. It seems they follow her, no?” The crowd nods, the few who remember this year’s games thinking back to my unforeseen alliance with the mutts. “A song. Her ballad, perhaps. An ode to the districts.”

The audience is mystified once more, and I brace myself. My heart is pounding, the blood rushing through my head. I feel sick, as if I’m going to puke. Then, everything stills.

“The ballad of a songbird,” Lucretius mutters quietly, and the screen turns black. The voices of the Covey start, and I brace myself for when my own voice will betray me, unleashing my secret to the world.

_You can't take my past.  
You can't take my history.  
You could take my pa,  
But his name's a mystery.  
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping._

_You can't take my charm.  
You can't take my humor.  
You can't take my wealth,  
'Cause it's just a rumor.  
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping._

_Thinking you're so fine.  
Thinking you can have mine.  
Thinking you're in control.  
Thinking you'll change me, maybe rearrange me.  
Think again, if that's your goal,  
'Cause..._

_You can't take my sass.  
You can't take my talking.  
You can kiss my ass  
And then keep on walking.  
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping._

_No, sir,  
Nothing you can take me from me is worth dirt.  
Take it, 'cause I'd give it free. It won't hurt.  
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping!_

When the screen lights up again, I see my face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for not updating like I promised. I am trying to get caught up - meaning, get to chapter 16 -- as quickly as possible. I got a new job, started school, left a relationship, etc. etc. all within a month and had no time to write. I am doing my best to catch up, as it is not fair to my readers to wait on me. I'm sorry.

I don’t sleep. Panic consumes me, and what little food I ate yesterday brings itself back up, bile rising in the back of my throat. The metallic taste never goes away, no matter how hard I swish tap water around my mouth. If I’m not in bed, I am perched over the toilet, retching out the contents of my stomach. I prepare myself for the morning where I’ll surely wake up to soldiers at my door, awaiting my arrest and immediate banishment from District 13. Or worse. They’re not wasteful, and all life is precious, but the life of a traitor is one worth ending. Will they believe my truth? I suppose not. I lied about my district, I lied about my name, I lied about my past. Why would they believe me? I wouldn’t trust myself. I’m not the most truthful person, but all lies come with a cost. This payment is long overdue.

Sleep embraces me in her gentle arms moments before the morning alarm goes off, relentlessly tearing me from my peaceful hideaway. I take a number of deep breaths before pulling the covers off my body, and despite my sweat-drenched clothes, I begin to shiver. I can’t tell if it's from the cold or anxiety. My feet touch the cool tile and I jump, unexpectant of the sensory response I’d have to such a minute thing. The most humane, familiar acts are now tense and uncertain. What future lies behind that door? I don’t know because I refuse to look. Once my hand touches the handle, I can’t go back. I got everything I wanted, and that still wasn’t enough. How could I have been so stupid, to lie about such a thing? Perhaps they would’ve shown me some mercy, had I not lied about who I was. There’s no denying that someone saw the broadcast last night. After all, the television turned itself on automatically. They don’t do that often.

I hate Cornelius. I hate the Capitol. Hell, I hate the districts for rebelling. Maybe that’s my problem: I’m fueled with hate. Him and I aren’t as different as it seems. This entire time I’ve thought myself higher of him, when really we are the same. Two totally different upbringings, yet a hateful passion binding the two of us.

I force myself to stand, grimacing at the chill feeling of the tile on my naked skin. I stalk to the sink, splashing my face with cool water until my shaking subsides. For once, I’m glad there’s no mirror. I probably look horrid. Chalky skin, bags under my eyes, disdain ingrained on my face. The true appearance of a liar. I decide that, if today is my last day, I’ll at least go out looking my best. I allow my curls to fall in ringlets on my shoulders, so unlike the buns I prefer. I know a small, hopeful part of me that burns within the depths of my skull thinks that this will be enough to conceal my identity, but the bitter, cold part of me that consumes everywhere else knows that’s less than possible. I’ll open the door and security will grab me, kicking and screaming. Maybe Sam will be there.

Sam, with his forgiving eyes, annoyingly handsome face, and jokes that are both idiotic and hilarious.

Thinking of Sam makes me think of Philip. Thinking of Philip makes me think of Sapphire. My friends. My newfound family. A ball builds up inside my chest and explodes, and I fall to the floor of my bathroom, holding myself up with my hands as my body convulses with sobs. Everything flows out of me in one large, unforgiving bubble. The betrayal they’ll feel, the way I won’t be able to explain to them why I lied, the truth of who I am, the necessity I felt, all of it weighs down upon me and leaves me a jumbled, snotty mess. So much for going out in style.

I don’t know what to do. The thought of self-betrayal crosses my mind for the first time in the last twelve hours. I can turn myself in -- if they haven’t found out already -- and maybe, maybe receive their sympathy. Perhaps I’ll be granted their mercy. Sam will still feel betrayed, I’m sure Sapphire won’t talk to me; Philip is another story. He’s shown me unconditional kindness. Maybe our friendship can be salvaged. Then again, so has Sapphire, but our relationship has always confused me. We’re in an odd limbo where neither of us ever really knows what to say, yet everything feels natural. Then there’s Sam, who never ceases to exist in my mind. How will he react? If he feels betrayed, I won’t receive a shred of kindness from him again. I can’t even expect him to look me in the eyes. He has the right to be angry, of course, as they all do. I’m sure if Sapphire turned around and told me she was from the Capitol I would react negatively. And me? An escaped Victor? Who was in a relationship with someone from the Capitol? Who -- as I mentioned -- is fueled with hate and found District 13 on a whim? Despite that being the truth, if they suspected I was placed here as a spy, I wouldn’t blame them. I’ll just have to endure the consequences of their assumption.

I allow myself a few more moments on the floor to compose myself. I wipe my eyes, raw and tired from my lack of sleep and the tears that have ceased to flow. Taking a few deep, shaky breaths, I force myself to stand as if I were the rising sun. There is no escaping her cycle, and the same goes for me. No matter the weather, the sun always rises, and I must be like her if I want to survive, even if the wind is blowing and unforgiving rains pour down upon me.

All stars explode and die at one point, but this is not my time. I refuse to allow this to be my end.

My legs are shaky, but I’m up. I’ve hardly eaten and am being internally crushed, but I muster up the strength to walk across my quarters. I find myself standing in front of my bedroom door, a strange calm spreading throughout me, so unlike the panic I’ve felt since waking. There’s no escaping what awaits me, and I decide I will exit with my head held high. I allow the door to open.

It happens in slow motion. Time moves in a painful pace, the door moving as my anxiety rises. The expanse of the hallway reveals itself, and there’s no one at the door.

Pure, ecstatic relief flows from the tips of my being. I think I let out a cry of glee. A few people walk past me, not giving me so much as a glance. My hands are shaking, and I take my first step into the hallway. I know I’ve missed breakfast; I took too long composing myself in the bathroom, but I don’t mind. I’m afraid I’ll throw everything back up, despite the euphoria I’m feeling. Who knows what the rest of the day will bring? I hurry to the elevator with a spring in my step and press the button that will send me to the training center, where I’ll see Sam and hopefully improve my skills. And then I’ll see Sapphire, then Philip, and everything will return to normal. It’ll be as if nothing ever happened. I have to stop myself from jamming my fingers into the button more than once. 

As expected, as I step into the center, Sam is waiting for me, an agitated look on his face and his arms crossed. His stance is so familiar I forget what’s plagued me. Routine normalcy. “You’re late,” He states, uncrossing his arms as he strides toward me. “Care to explain?” I’ve never been so relieved to see his annoyance.

I swallow, trying to find a cover. I debate giving him a half truth, saying my TV turned on and it kept me awake, but where would that get me? Sam could’ve seen it and have his own suspicions. I decide against it, clear my throat and say, “I couldn’t sleep. It took some extra time to get out of bed.”

“Huh. Well, you missed dinner… then breakfast, so…” He throws a package at me. It’s a granola bar. I open it and scarf it down while Sam gets our guns ready. He shakes his head, watching me eat. “You look like shit.” 

“Well, that makes two of us,” I retort, stuffing the wrapper into my pocket and grinning devilishly. I grab my gun off the table, my shoulder sagging with the weight. Sam rolls his eyes and motions for me to follow him. We end up at the same target as before, and he explains what we’ll be doing today. The same as yesterday. Everything is hands on, so the more I practice, the better I’ll get. He assesses my previous performance and gives me a few tips. I nod, and then we begin to practice. I’m shaky at first, but after a bit I get the hang of it. There are a few times I nearly hit the target square on, and Sam and I count those as little victories. I can tell that they’re not good enough for him though. 

We are near the end of practice, and I still haven’t made a bullseye. It's still so early on, but I’ve grown significantly. I challenge myself to make it. Slowing my breathing, I aim the gun, focus directly on the target. I can feel Sam’s eyes boring into me, observing my stature, focus, and strategy, ready to adjust me at any given moment. With a long exhale, I pull the trigger. A loud bang, and my bullet has struck through. Bullseye.

“Now with more practice, you’ll be able to do that in a heartbeat,” says Sam, showing off his skills as he raises his gun and shoots a bullseye effortlessly. Jokes on him, I’ll be in there in no time.

“Yes!” I say, dropping the gun and high-fiving a grinning Sam. “Did you see how on target that was?”

“We most certainly did,” comes a voice from behind me. My entire body tenses, and I watch as Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens himself out, his smile evaporating. There is quiet, slow clapping echoing through the center as footsteps approach me, and I stiffly turn around to face Commander Coin. He looks pleased, but his face is hard. “Excellent job, Jane. If I were anyone else, I’d think you’d gotten prior training in District 11.” 

The mention of eleven causes sweat to form on my body, and my chest becomes tight. He knows. I want to drop to my knees, to beg for forgiveness, but I stand my ground. It takes everything in me not to look at Sam, because I know I’ll break. “Commander,” I say, my voice wavering. “How have I earned the pleasure of your company?” 

His face turns grim, and I understand. My mouth runs dry. “I think we both know why I’m here,” He says. Tears prick at my eyes, and I do the only thing I can. I nod. In a flash, I realize that nodding was a confirmation of everything. No need to confess anymore. How could I have been so stupid?

“Yes,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. This is it. This is the end. I allow myself a final look at Sam, expecting fury, maybe sadness, but all I see is confusion. Does he not know? How doesn’t he know? Were the previous few hours not just a cover? He’s second in command. If anything, he would know. What is going on?

“Follow me,” Commander Coin orders. “You too, Lieutenant,” he addresses Sam. They’ve gone off first-name basis, so Sam knows this is serious. He follows behind after putting our guns away, pausing at the hooks just long enough to look at me. Something flashes across his face before he hardens, and I step into the elevator, waiting for him. We rise, and I know where we’re headed. I stay silent. 

The elevator opens and we step into the hallway that ends with two soldiers standing guard at the door. I’m reminded of my arrival at thirteen. This time, it's Commander Coin escorting me, not Sam. What an interesting parallel. Escorting me to my banishment. I almost laugh at the irony.

The door opens, and President Adalia sits at her desk. I expect to be handcuffed, so I stop in my tracks. Sam presses a hand to my back. “Keep walking,” he mutters under his breath. “Just do what they say.” His breath is hot against my skin, sending shockwaves down my body. I’m forced to obey. I continue walking, no one paying me any mind other than the President, Commander, and Lieutenant. Commander Coin takes a seat beside President Adalia, and Sam stands guard behind me. I pull out a chair and sink into the warm, velvety cushion. Luxury isn’t often provided in District 13, and if I’m to die, I must take it. President Adalia studies me carefully, her hands clasped in the perfect grip she’s always had. Commander Coin avoids my eye, and I can only guess what Sam is doing. Now is my chance.

I begin to speak, “I-”

“We’ve known all along, Lucy Gray Baird,” Commander Coin says, and my jaw drops. Being addressed by my name after all these months sends me into such a shock that I don’t register his words for a few moments, and then they’re all I can think about. What does he mean, they’ve known all along? They just rolled with it? Why? How did they know? I don’t know where to begin. I stutter for a few seconds before he holds a hand out.

“I’m sure you have many questions,” President Adalia says gently, reorganizing a stack of papers. “Sam, close your mouth, you look like a ghost. Don’t act so surprised. We didn’t tell you for a reason.” Resisting the urge to look at Sam once more, President Adalia confirms my suspicion that he didn’t know. His momentary weakness was caught by President Adalia, and she returns her attention to me. “Now, our citizens don’t watch the Hunger Games because we believe it is cruel and unusual punishment. We play highlights, of course, but… no one wants to endure it. The Commander and I, however, watch and study the games. We are a military district under the constant threat of the Capitol. We do what we must to survive… You definitely put on a show, Lucy. That’s why we didn’t kill you.” At my look, she continues. “You’re different. You defied the Capitol, even if they themselves didn’t realize it. Flirting with your mentor was genius, as was your performance with the mutts. You so much as proved yourself worthy in the arena as you did on your journey here. We knew you weren’t a threat. You’re as desperate for a better life as the rest of them. We’ve seen many similarities between you and Philip. I know you had your traveling group- tell me, do you miss them?”

The mention of the Covey is shocking. Of course I miss them. Yet, in the presence of the President, I find myself drawn to one-word answers. “Yes,” I answer, crystal clear. “They’re my family.”

“And you just portrayed one trait no one with an allegiance to the Capitol can. Pride and care for your family,” Commander Coin says, and his eyes flick to Sam behind me. That’s not true, though. Coriolanus spoke fondly of his family. Well, he spoke fondly of them when he wasn’t being coddled by Sejanus’ mother or complaining of his own family’s financial incompetency. Oh. That’s where we differ. “Which also ties into your friendships here. I’ve never seen you do anything to intentionally -- or even indirectly -- hurt any of your friends. You blended in perfectly. Other than your sporadic outbursts about the Capitol… but again, they put you through Hell and back. I can’t imagine what being in that arena must feel like.” 

No, he can’t. My face hardens. “If you knew this whole time, why only tell me now?” I ask.

President Adalia sighs. “You adjusted so perfectly, we saw no reason to tell you. We approved of you creating a fake identity because it was a means to protect yourself. After everything, it was a mercy we could provide. You'd endured so much already. But last night… something strange happened. Our screen -- just ours -- switched to the news cast where you sang. The only other place it happened was your room. As if someone had set it up. We’ve had our suspicions, but now it seems we have someone else who knows here too. With the knowledge to control our technological systems. They also knew this broadcast was happening… you understand. We couldn’t certify whether or not you’d seen it, which, assuming by your expression, you did, so it was best for us to tell you now before they decide to target you.”

Someone in thirteen knows? And they have the power to control the systems? This can’t be good. I may not be the threat after all. But me, being targeted? That would get them nowhere. I’m harmless. The only thing anyone would get out of my presence is political propaganda. If there is someone here, they’re a spy, probably from the Capitol, giving them all of our information. For a Capitol raid. My eyes widen, and the commander nods at me. “Yes,” He confirms. “Like that.”

District 13 isn’t so safe after all. At least, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are highly appreciated! You can find me on Twitter at @peculiauds.


	11. Chapter 11

**PART TWO: THE LIAR**

Despite the news spreading that I, Jane, am actually Lucy Gray Baird, the Victor of the tenth Hunger Games, life remained as normal. I should’ve expected that, given the non-chalantness toward the Hunger Games in District 13, but I expected at least a few astonished looks and whispered rumors down the hallway. Philip and Sapphire were accepting, though I can’t deny that they were both appalled at the thought of me competing in the Hunger Games. Then came the onslaught of questions from Philip asking if Coriolanus is truly that awful in person (to which I told him he is) and Sapphire asking if I’m okay (as if the psychological torture of being in the arena ever left). I appreciate them. They make me feel like I belong. No one treats me differently, and I’m grateful for it. I’m not sure if I could mentally handle being estranged again. Sam, however, is another story. He hardly talked to me after Commander Coin dismissed us. What little conversation we had was strictly business, as if any personal ties we’d had were cut. We’re back to square one, maybe even less than that because our time training together is almost over. We barely talk when we are in the training center, Sam readjusting my position from an uncomfortably distant position or giving me notes on my strategy. He doesn’t even celebrate my wins anymore. There’s an edge to him, and it's unlike the usual arrogance he carries. This is personal.

I wonder if he thinks he failed, bringing me in. He let his guard down, that’s for sure. Sam didn’t recognize me as a Capitol superstar, but who would? I looked even worse for wear arriving in District 13 than I did arriving back from the Games in District 12. Besides, he’s not in trouble for it. At least, I hope he’s not. I’d never forgive myself if he got punished because of my actions, especially if it were wrongfully so. Besides, there’s only so much trouble you can get in for making a simple mistake. Could it have been threatening? Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I’m not a threat. Commander Coin so much as told me I was the asset that District 13 needed to put them a step above the Capitol. President Adalia mentioned someone doing spy-like activity, and if they can use me to weed them out, I’ll help in the best way I can. Anything that benefits the Capitol should be destroyed. I suppose Sam will eventually open up again. He can’t ignore me forever. District 13 is only so large, and our mutual friendships give us an unavoidable bond, and if Commander Coin needs me to work with Sam, we’ll be forced to reconvene and converse about the threats to thirteen. Which directly leads to conversations about my arrival.

Today, our training is as silent as ever. I hit the target almost every time, and Sam stares icily ahead, shaking his head or nodding at every shot. He doesn’t have to adjust my position once, and as soon as we’re done he removes his gear, waits for me to put mine away, and walks to the elevator, leaving me to wait for its descent back to the training center. Several minutes tick by before the elevator returns, and I step in, my arms crossed as I begin my journey to the cafeteria. Today's lunch special is a sandwich, a normalcy now that harvest season is over. The bread is made with harvested grains, random vegetables and genetically curated meats shoved between two slices. I grab my food and retreat to the table, sitting in my usual spot. Sapphire approaches me with a smile and takes her spot beside me, munching on a sandwich while Philip sits down and begins telling her all about a news program none of us really care about. They’re working on setting up a district newscast that mirrors the Capitol’s. Philip is interested, though, and that’s what matters. Sapphire and I are too tired from the day’s work to engage anyway, and Philip knows that, so he fills the gaps of silence with his voice. It’s an unspoken agreement between us. Philip drones on until Sam finally approaches our table, avoiding me like always. The others have noticed as well, but neither addresses it publicly. In private, Sapphire has given me the various conclusions she’s made, and Philip chooses not to comment because Sam is his best friend, and he doesn’t want to make assumptions about him. I don’t push Philip because I know his allegiance lies with Sam, and it's not my business anyway. Sam can behave however he wants, despite the frustration it puts me through. He confuses me so much, but it seems confusion follows me wherever I go. Nothing is ever certain in my life. Especially not relationships. 

I’m broken out of my trance when Philip waves his hand in front of my face. “Lucy… Luuuucccyyyyy…” I roll my eyes and reach across the table to flick his hand. He pulls it back, feigning injury. “Damn it! Stop being so strong. You make me look like a wuss. Anyway, we were just talking about the Capitol programs. We haven’t seen your boy in a while.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, and scoff, “Coriolanus is not -- and has never been -- my boy. He’s appalling.” I wrinkle my nose to accentuate my point. However, notwithstanding my absolute hatred toward him, I still wonder what he could be up to. I’m sure he’s been mentioned on the news, but there haven’t been any broadcasts featuring him of late. He’s disappeared from the media like a stray cat. Here all the time, gone for an instance, and then pouncing back. The news is all announcements of sudden deaths or broken family ties. Nothing unlike the Capitol; focus on drama, not the corrupt government and twisted ways of the president. The forecasts became a form of entertainment for us, as we could make fun of the Capitol citizen’s silly accents and comical makeup choices. Even Sam will chip in. I pick at the spinach in my sandwich, ripping it into tiny chunks and putting the excess aside on my tray. “Besides, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we see him again. Unfortunately.”

The table quiets again, Sapphire reminding me to eat my greens. I only do it because it’s her who told me to do it, but that doesn’t stop me from resentfully chewing the leafy food. Only a few more weeks of this, though. The autumn harvest has ended, making way for the colder winters. The gardens will be fine either way, but the group told me there’s a kind of melancholiness that comes with the colder months. The food is blander, rations are smaller, the work ethic diminishes. In District 12, winter was deadly. Here, it’s boring. I hope the Covey will do alright this winter. I know the last one, even with me home, was horrid. They’re perfectly capable of fending for themselves, but I have no idea what the conditions in twelve are right now. The colder months bring on more than just empty bellies and chilled temperatures. As if she were reading my mind, Sapphire says, “It’s going to get colder out in the real world soon. We’re a bit short on supplies.” 

There’s longing in her voice. Longing to go outside and explore the world. She wants to escape the confines of District 13, ventilated air and all. I know I haven’t helped much with my stories about the forest and the beautiful river I traveled next to. The knowledge that the outdoors may be too dangerous doesn’t stop her yearning, though why would it? Despite her constant appeal for safety, she’s got an adventurous side that aches to get out and do the impossible. 

“Well, there isn’t much we can do about that,” Philip replies, and he looks genuinely pitiful. “I’m sure things will pick up. A food shortage should be the least of our worries.” Philip’s observance is flawed. Food shortages affect everyone. I noticed our bundles getting smaller, but I thought it was because the prime time for harvest was over, not because we’ve been underproducing. Adapting to my new identity has been a bigger distraction than I thought. No wonder Sapphire has avoided conversations about our duties… we no longer have many. 

Under her breath, Sapphire says, “Well, there is, but…” The rest is inaudible. We all know what she’s alluding to. Normally, we ignore comments like this, but Philip isn’t having it.

Nevertheless, he’s apologetic. He’s itching to get out too, but as a normal citizen, it’d be a joke for her to ask. Even with his military position, Philip is rarely allowed to go out. Only Sam is granted that luxury. “Saf, you know we can’t. President Adalia wouldn’t allow it. Sam isn’t even let out unless it's under special circumstances.” 

“And avoiding a disastrous food shortage isn't a special circumstance?” Sapphire snaps, and Sam lifts his head. He’s frustrated and going to argue with Sapphire, which won’t do any of us good. I muster up the courage to say something to deescalate the situation, but he interrupts me before I can open my mouth. 

“We’ve been discussing going out for a toxicity check again. I’ll send someone to scout the vegetation. If any of it is even usable, given the fact that we were bombed... and there’s radiation... and the constant threat of attack…”

“Right, because we need to do radiation checks every three months?” Sapphire snaps, her tone sarcastic and fire in her eyes. “Don’t think we don’t know what’s truly going on. You’d think we’d be brought along for a change, but no, there’s ‘too much radiation.’ Sounds like codswallop to me.” She drops her fork. It clunks loudly on the table, and we receive a few dirty looks from people at other tables. I put my hand on here's to stop her.

Sam sighs loudly, “Well, that ‘codswallop’ keeps you -- and everyone else -- safe, Sapphire. Not that you’ve been outside in the last, what now, twelve years? So how would you even know. Oh wait, you don’t.” He’s effectively shut Sapphire down, for now. She’ll be upset for a bit, but she’ll get over it quickly. That’s how she maneuvers through life. The conversation would’ve ended either way because people around us are starting to get up and head to their afternoon jobs, which means Sapphire and I are to go down into the gardens. Hopefully I’ll be able to bring her spirits up. She’s got enough on her plate as it is. 

Sapphire angrily stands up, shoots Sam a nasty look, and motions for me to follow her. I have to wolf down the remainder of my sandwich that I ignored while she and Sam had at each other, so I wave her off, saying, “I’ll be in the gardens in five!” Sighing dramatically, she winks at me, motions her head toward Sam, and tags along with Philip, who begrudgingly rises and raises his eyebrows at me, leaving just Sam and I at the table. I love them, but I hate them. Of course they'd point out the tenseness of the situation. The two engage in playful banter while they walk out of the cafeteria, and I can just barely make out Sapphire mimicking Sam. She’s already gotten over what he said to her. I hurriedly clear off my tray, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters with him. He does the same, but we end up waiting on each other at the trash can. 

“You can go first,” He mumbles, and I set my tray down above the lid. I debate walking away, but something inside me tells me to stay and wait for him. So I do, and I stand there looking like an idiot. He pretends not to notice. Sam begins to walk away, and in a fit of impulsiveness, I grab his wrist. “Sam,” I say quietly. He heaves a great sigh, nostrils flaring in annoyance. I’m beginning to realize this wasn’t the greatest idea. Perhaps I was better off alone with my thoughts, not knowing the reasoning behind his behavior. “Sam,” I repeat, straightening myself up. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Sam pauses, muscles tensing under my grasp. He purposely avoids my gaze, looking anywhere other than my face. With clenched teeth, under his breath, he says, “I’m not avoiding you. I just find no reason to talk to Capitol offspring.” 

Every word stings. I swallow the lump that forms in my throat and put on my best poker face. If I act unbothered, maybe I will be. “Fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. He then rips his arm from my grasp, nearly elbowing me in the process, and I turn on my heel to walk away but stop in my tracks and turn back towards him, my voice louder when I announce, “Just because I won the Hunger Games doesn’t mean I care about the Capitol. It can burn to the ground for all I care. That would do all of us some good.”

His back straightens, and he finally looks in my eye, expression icy. He narrows his eyes and answers, “Yes, it would.” before exiting the cafeteria. My hands are shaking, and I’m glad only a few people were here to witness it. I can see the whiteness in my knuckles and unclench my hands, ignoring the indents my nails made on my fragile flesh. I open the door to the hallway angrily and don’t flinch when it slams shout with a loud bang. I stomp into the elevator and press the button to go to the gardens harshly, absolutely seething while the others in the elevator give me odd looks. After a few moments, I arrive and storm into the garden. Sapphire is tending to the soil near me, and upon my entrance puts her hands up in submission.

“Woah. Okay. Slow down there tiger. Something definitely happened in the five minutes since I’ve been down here,” She observes, eyes wide as she approaches me and places a gentle hand on my back. We sit down on a ledge away from the entrance. “Deep breaths. What happened?” Concern spreads across her face, and I’m grateful for the furrowed brows that show me I have her unconditional support. My lack of response grants her permission to make assumptions. “It was Sam, wasn’t it?” She asks, and I nod, fury erupting at the mention of his name. Immediately, she validates my feelings. “Yup. I could tell. He’s been a jerk ever since…” Sapphire doesn’t want to blame me for Sam’s behavior. It’s not an excuse, anyway, but she’s still cautious with her words. “Anyway. That doesn’t matter. He’s being unfair. We’re all from somewhere else. You were protecting yourself. I’m sure he would do the same.” She pauses, removing her glasses to wipe dirt off of them. “Or…” She lowers her voice, “maybe he’s intimidated because he’s no longer the only mysterious, gorgeous person in thirteen.” Redness fills her cheek and she scratches harder at a piece of dirt on her lenses. I bite my lip, my heart leaping into my throat.

“I think there are more than two,” I say softly, reaching out my palm to stop her incessant wiping. “Stop, it's just a scratch.” My hand on hers shocks us and we jump back at the static electricity. “Sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my palm. She just nods at me before looking around us.

“We should go. I mean, um, we should go do our jobs. Not leave. Ha.” I catch her widening her eyes in alarm as she stands and turns away from me, walking hastily in the other direction and putting a hand on her head. I pick up a shovel next to me and follow suit, trailing a bit of a ways behind her to grant her space. Today must be an off day in District 13.

We arrive at where there should be buckets of harvests, but the results are dismal. Sapphire looks at the half-empty barrel, dejected. Things are much worse today than they were a few weeks ago. All around us is barren soil, pulled-up roots, and sloshed mud on the floor. A drastic sight indeed. There’s not much to say, so I work on uprooting the few vegetables that are left. Even they are frail and slowly diminishing. Controlled climates don’t fix everything. After a few moments, Sapphire kicks the wheelbarrow and sits back down, pressing her hands to her face and groaning loudly in her palms. I feel bad for it, but I smirk. Something about her being frustrated is mildly adorable. I stop myself when I’m reminded that this problem is a lot bigger than Sapphire’s frustration, though. A food shortage means weakened immune systems, fragility, and not enough food for anyone. It means we’re as weak as the other districts. I thought this was normal, but given Sapphire’s reaction, this could be more harmful than we thought. Her request to search for new vegetation was not light-hearted, nor was it fueled by selfish desire. It was fueled by genuine concern. 

I drop the shovel and crouch in front of her, placing my hands on her knees. “Hey, we’ll be okay,” I reassure her, trying my best to remain gentle. She sniffs, lifting her forehead to look at me. The smallest smile graces my features. “I promise,” I say, squeezing her legs before standing up and holding my hand out to her. “C’mon. Let’s get working.”

Sapphire blinks at me for a moment, before sternly saying, “No. Sit.” I almost plop down on the spot. Carefully, I sit in front of her, my knees crossed as she slides off the bench and mimics my movements. She swirls the soil on the ground in circles a few times before clearing her throat, a saddened look on her face. “You grew up in the Dark Days. You know what it was like, don’t you?” I nod, childhood memories flicking through my mind. The fear that consumed me as a little girl still haunts me in my dreams. The only thing that haunts me more is the wretched arena, Marcus’ body and the screams of my fellow tributes as they met their fate. Sapphire swallows loudly, her voice thick as she continues, “You know how hard it was for Sam. He practically boasts it. But it was so, so hard for the rest of us too. The Capitol destroyed everything. There was barely enough food to go around. We had to be selective. The fact our gardens are like this is a miracle. President Adalia has done everything she can to assure no one goes as hungry as we did in the beginning and that we won’t have to resort to the barbarism that we did back then. Even now, that’s not enough to fulfill the perpetual hunger that I’ve felt ever since then. Spending your seventeenth birthday completely famished and skin and bones isn’t ideal. It’s something that follows you forever, you know?” I don’t know. So far, my seventeenth year has been spent in comfort. I don’t say anything, so Sapphire continues. “Three years into the Hunger Games is when things got better. President Adalia really cracked down and got so many people in the gardens and science labs that we barely had anyone to work in the military, which wasn’t ideal because we were still dealing with the Capitol and their constant threats. You see how that’s changed,” She laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “It was with that task force that we got back on track. But not without a few losses along the way. I was eighteen when I watched my best friend die of malnutrition…” She trails off, misty-eyed and lost in thought before observing my face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. She was anemic, I think. Or something like that. She wasn’t one of our strongest, so she sacrificed herself. It’s harder that way. Survival of the fittest, I guess. But that’s besides the point. Food started growing, people gained more weight, the biologists were able to find ways to sustain our food supply without completely changing the genetic makeup of our food. Things got better. But food shortages are still scary, and I haven’t seen one look as bad as this since those times. Our population is larger, and there are children. What are we to do if there are more mouths than food? Are we supposed to ration them off to our strongest again, and leave the weak to die out? There’s no way I’d be able to stomach that again. Not after what happened to Aurora. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for allowing them to let her suffer simply because she was one of the weaker ones.” I knew District 13 had suffered its own hardships, but nothing like this. Nothing as bad as a District 12 winter. “She was the only person who understood me, and she was taken away by the actions of the Capitol. Survival of the damn fittest!” Sapphire snaps, and her sudden outburst shocks me. She was so nonchalant about her friend a few moments ago, and now she’s upset? Grief works in mysterious ways, though, so I have no reason to question it. Sapphire is unpredictable. 

“Survival of the fittest” reminds me of the Games. I was an underdog, virtually a lost cause. Nevertheless, I persisted and beat the odds. Just like District 13 did. Thinking of the Games reminds me of the arena, and suddenly I’m explaining my story to Sapphire. “That’s how it felt in the Games,” I say, unable to stop myself from interjecting. “Like everything was up against us and there was no prevailing against this higher force. We didn’t have to ration because we wouldn’t survive either way. I was the underdog, the one no one suspected would win. What’s a frail District 12 girl against a beast from District 2? A sack of flesh. Maybe it's unfair because Marcus wasn’t even killed by us. The Capitol killed him first, but… there were other threats. Threats so harsh, conditions so severe I never should’ve escaped that arena. My corpse should be rotting, but instead I’m here. You go through so much mental gymnastics in that arena, you think and do unimaginable things. I didn’t put myself higher than killing anyone, but I never wanted to. Coriolanus ruined all of that,” I spit his name out, my face twitching as the poisonous words fly out of me. “You are so lucky you aren’t ruled by a corrupt government. Watching your peers die on camera, it was awful. You don’t forget the faces of your classmates meeting their final moments. It sticks with you like chewing gum on a desk. There’s nothing worse except going in the arena yourself. You think you’ll never see your loved ones again and pray you go out in a way that preserves your dignity. They don’t rule out cannibalism in the Games. It’s even worse to watch your friends die in front of your eyes. People you grew up with, in front of you, dead. The smell of rotting corpses and sticky, red, hot, and fresh blood all over and around you. The putridness of that battleground. The knowledge that you won’t get out alive unless it's by some miracle.” I debate continuing. I want to mention Coriolanus. What he did to me. Why that feeling of hopelessness won’t ever go away. I do. Sapphire deserves to know. “Maybe your mentor is great and cheats so you win. He tricks you into thinking it's because he loves you, but in truthfulness he just wanted the power boost and glory that came from having a winning tribute. And a scholarship to the University. And to escape from his life of poverty, something so shameful in the Capitol they throw you in the districts to suffer like the rest of us. The Capitol is a horrible, dirty place and I despise everyone and everything that shows a shred of respect to them,” I spit, and I watch Sapphire carefully. She looks at me with pity, worry spread across her face as she chews on her nails. Doubt invades my mind. I ruined everything, I made her story about myself. Even if she did allude to this conversation. Her struggles are nothing like my struggles, and I should’ve kept that in mind before recounting the horrors of the Hunger Games to her. I thought that her living through the Dark Days, thirteen suffering like the rest of us, and the constant threat of being attacked connected us through one trauma. Slowly, I come to understand that the horrific acts of the Capitol toward the first twelve districts are inhumane and intolerable to anyone who isn’t a player or spectator. Children killing each other for a sport has become routine in the districts, but here it is an act of terrorism they choose to ignore. They don’t think they can help us, so they choose to cast a blind eye and pretend none of these things are happening. Much like the Capitol with what Coriolanus is doing. I’m sure someone knows. 

I’m so lost in thought that Sapphire sniffs loudly, breaking me out of my trance. I begin to apologize, wanting her sympathy, but she shakes her head. After a moment, she states, “Coriolanus has always seemed like a massive douche. He must’ve played the gentleman act really well because you’re not easily fooled. What an ass. He’s like the opposite of Sam. Sam knows he’s a dick and admits it. Coriolanus thinks he’s heaven on Earth. Yeah, right,” she laughs. “Perfect pretty boy is the best thing to happen to Panem. More like the second worst, other than everyone who didn’t agree with oppression watching their homes be destroyed and being forced into further impoverishment and a competition where their children go at each other to the death. Right.” We quiet again, and I reflect on what she says. “What was it like, having someone love you?” She asks, her voice soft. She avoids my eye. “Or feeling like someone did. I’m sorry.”

I avoid the question. I don’t want to reflect on love right now. It’s added baggage that I can do without. Like Sapphire said, I felt like he did, but he didn’t love me. He pretended to for the advantages being in love with a tribute would bring him. Even the scandal of it all would give him the attention he so desires. “It was hard being in the Capitol, then coming back from the Games to District 12. You’re a changed person. You’ve killed people,” I reflect, memories of the Games flashing through my mind. I try to forget, but on my darkest nights I wake up, paralyzed with fear. The fear that started when Mayor Lipp took my name out of the bowl, narrowed his eyes, and read my name to the world. It has preceded almost completely with the knowledge I am safe, but memories don’t disappear in an instant.

Sapphire sighs and says something I never thought I’d hear her say. The comparison fuels the fire that’s burned in me forever. Fury toward the Capitol, toward Coriolanus, toward everywhere that’s ever made me suffer.

“That sounds truly awful, being a fish out of water. It’s like that here in District 13.”

For the first time, I am inescapably angry at someone I considered to be my best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and shares are super appreciated!
> 
> I know my writing quality has diminished of late. I haven't been reading or writing for a while, so I'm a bit rusty compared to earlier chapters. Also, trying to bust out six chapters within a week can... take it's toll on your skill. Quality over quantity, right? Until you are seven chapters behind. Lol. 
> 
> You can connect with me on Twitter - my username is @/peculiauds.


	12. Chapter 12

“What did you say?” I ask, standing up quickly and balling my hands into fists. I can’t believe she would ever compare the luxury of living in District 13 to my struggles in the Hunger Games. “Sapphire, what are you saying?” My voice is subdued, but every word comes out harshly.

Her eyes widen when she realizes how I took her comment, and she rises as well, holding her hands up. “Oh my gosh. No, Lucy, it's not like that, I swear.” I’m silent, biting my tongue to keep from lashing out at her. Sapphire is tough, but sensitive. But I am so angry. She grabs onto my hands, her face pleading, but I rip them out of her grasp. “Lucy, please, that’s not what I was saying!” Tears fill her eyes, and I feel myself faltering, but I hold my ground, hardening my face. “Lucy, District 13 is nowhere near as horrible as the other districts or the Hunger Games! I wasn’t saying that. I meant that living a life of lies and deception takes its toll, and people in thirteen have to lie about themselves too!” She’s practically begging me to respond to her. What does she mean, people have to lie about who they are? Everyone here is either a refugee or a natural-born citizen of the district. “And we’ve suffered loss. So, so much loss -- we may no longer be as famished as we used to be, but we know what it's like!” Her lip quivers, and I’m reminded of the innocence of Maude Ivory. The smallness of her face, the bright, child-like quality of her eyes. How upset she got if I was sad. How much more upset she got if I was angry at her. Thinking of Maude Ivory causes more pain to bubble up inside me, and I replace it with red, hot anger. Sapphire drops her voice lower, stepping toward me and gripping my hands once more. “Lucy, please.”

“No,” I say plainly, ripping my hand out of hers, trying to ignore the softness of her skin, so delicate in face of the routine of District 13, and shake my head. “I only lied about my identity to stay safe. None of you -- none of you -- have had to do anything remotely near that. You are safe being yourself here. I was not, hell, I probably am not. They’re already thinking of using me as a weapon against the Capitol. You think I don’t know that? They might as well have a sign attached to me that says so. Pawn for the Covey, pawn for the mayor, pawn for Coriolanus, pawn for thirteen.” I am blazing. The fire within me is finally coming out, and I don’t bother extinguishing it. 

I know my anger is displaced, and Sapphire wasn’t trying to do any harm. But I can’t hold everything in any longer. “I am so tired of being used. I am exhausted. You think I wanted this? Any of this? I wanted to survive,” My voice cracks, and there’s a desperation I didn’t think I had. “To live, to have a life free from the grasp of the Capitol. Maybe then I could do something with myself.” I sigh heavily, and I swear fire comes out. “I thought winning the Games would guarantee my freedom. I would no longer have to worry about the Capitol, or being reaped, or there being enough food on the table. But when I got back to twelve, nothing changed. No longer did I fear my own reaping, but the reaping of my friends. Essentially, my children. I was one of their main caregivers. Now I’m gone, and what’re they up to? Fearing for their own lives? It’s almost December. Winter in District 12 is deadly, even with enough food on the table. What am I to do if they starve?” Fury overtakes me. Every thought, every worry, every fear I’ve ever felt releases itself in this moment. And Sapphire sees it, yet she doesn’t back away.

“I’m sorry,” She apologizes, and her voice has a gentleness I’ve never heard from her before. It’s now that I realize her eyes are brimmed with tears. My anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. She will never understand, not completely, but maybe in a way she does. 

I find myself in a contradictory setting. On one hand, I am furious with her for making the assumption our lives were ever alike, on the other, she’s struggled too and it’s immature for me to invalidate her feelings because our lives have had their differences. She sees similarities I don’t, and maybe I’m the same.

Sapphire continues, “I didn’t mean to say we’re alike. We aren’t, at least not in that way. I was just… I don’t know.” Sapphire sighs and sits down, placing her elbows on her knees and covering her face with her hands. “It’s hard to explain,” She says, though her voice is muffled through her fingers. “I haven’t told anyone. I probably shouldn’t even tell you because who knows…” Her voice shakes and she uncovers her face, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “It doesn’t matter. It was wrong of me to make the comparison.” Her expression hardens, her eyes glazing over, and I know I’m losing her. She’s shutting herself out once more, and I know I won’t be able to get this moment out of my head if she does.

“What don’t you want to tell me?” I ask gently. I internally wince at the edge that’s still in my voice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still angry, but it’s made its course and there’s room for other feelings. Like sympathy. Empathy, even, depending on her story.

Sapphire shakes her head. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t even matter, it's not like I’m in the Capitol where you’re free to express yourself. I’m in thirteen. What you like doesn’t matter here. It’s about sustainability, prosperity, and survival. Nothing more, nothing less.” She takes on a mock-serious tone, and I laugh. She always knows how to make the toughest of situations humorous, even when you don’t want them to be. She meets my eye then, and we linger for a moment. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite place. Sadness? Longing? Suddenly, she shakes her head and looks away. Sapphire lets out a small laugh and says, “You always make me feel so safe. Like I could tell you anything, and it’d stay locked up in that head of yours forever.”

Her words take me by surprise. I feel the same way, but to hear it out loud is something else. It makes it feel more real. Hesitantly, I say, “Maybe it could.”

Sapphire smiles brightly, a beautiful, loud chuckle coming up out of her. “Oh, Lucy, you are one amazing girl…” As if back in thought, she stares off into the distance. Then, heaving a great sigh, she says, “I’m a lesbian. I like girls.” A pause, and then, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just told you that!” And then, “Please don’t tell anyone, I haven’t said anything and its best no one knows because nothing could even happen-”

I shush her, holding onto her hands. I push a piece of hair that hangs loose behind her ear. “Hey, I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s none of their business.” I am a bit confused though. She talks about Sam frequently, and often flirts with him. Or, she used to. Against my better judgment, I ask, “What about Sam? I thought you two…”

Sapphire shakes her head at me, barely containing a scoff. “No. We were together for a bit when we were younger, but that fizzled out quickly. Besides, I’m too old for him and… boys aren’t really my forte, obviously,” We both chuckle at that. So much for not making things awkward. Sapphire continues, “We flirt sometimes still, and he’s charming, believe me, but… there’s nothing attached. I care for him is all. Anyway, he has his eyes set on someone else. I think he does it to make you jealous.”

What? “Excuse me?” I say, barely containing the sarcasm from my voice. Sam? Trying to make me jealous? As if. He’s been an asshole to me every day since I can remember, even more so now. “What would he get out of me being jealous? Why does he even think I would be jealous? I can’t stand the dude!”

Sapphire doesn’t reply. She stares up at me through her thick glasses, a smug smile on her face. She shakes her head while I speak. “Yep. That’s what I thought.” She stands up, slapping her hands on her thighs and begins walking down rows of orange trees, inspecting some. The brightness of the fruit contrasts the dull look of her skin. “You’re so easy to read, darling. One can see through you as if you were made of glass.” I scoff. She knows nothing about me or how I feel about Sam. Hell, I don’t even know how I feel about Sam. 

Besides, I don’t even know what my love life has become. Since when have I thought of anyone romantically? Not since Coriolanus, and Coriolanus was merely a survival strategy. Afterwards I developed feelings for him, but that’s not the point. I don’t even know if I could handle - or even have - a relationship in thirteen. There are so many rules and regulations I still don’t know about, let alone understand. I’m sure they’ve already got a strong, handsome boy lined up for Sapphire.

No wonder I’m so apprehensive about my romantic desires. I don’t even know the difference between platonic and romantic feelings. For one, hearing Sapphire say she likes girls made my heart jump, but so did hearing her say Sam does things to make me jealous. But as if! There’s no way I could like them. We’re just friends. My heart skipped a beat because I was surprised, not because I was excited.

“You’re deep in thought,” Sapphire remarks, plucking an orange from its branch. She gives me the same smile she always does when she knows she's right. “Hm. Have I given you something to dwell on?” She throws an orange at me, big and bright, and I catch it, only fumbling a little bit. She laughs before she disappears behind the branches again.

“No,” I say simply, tossing the orange up and down. She knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t persist. Instead, more oranges tumble down, with her mumbling “shit” behind it.

I pick all of them up, putting them in a nearby basket. Wiping my hands together and looking up, I squint at the sunlight coming in. I sigh. I miss the outdoors. The feeling of REAL sunlight and grass between my toes. Deciding on the next best thing, I grab onto a low branch on the tree and begin climbing my way up, finding Sapphire hidden behind a large clump of leaves and oranges, a pile of them resting in her lap. “Need some help?” I offer, and she simply shakes her head, eyes not removing her work, and points toward me, then a patch of oranges above me. I grab onto one and pull it down with a snap, disconnecting it from its branch. I continue to do this until I have a solid pile resting between my thighs, trying to keep them from toppling to the ground. Sapphire continues to expertly harvest them, occasionally chucking an orange down to the basket when her pile grows too large. I attempted to, but I hit the side of the tree and it splattered on the ground, provoking a laugh from Sapphire. 

“Need any help up there?” A voice says from down below. Sapphire and I look down at the same time, and I forget what I’m doing. The orange I’d been pulling from the stem disconnects and flies toward the ground, hitting Sam square on the head.

“Ow!” He yelps, and Sapphire stifles a giggle. I smile a bit too, but it removes my face the minute Sam looks up at me. Annoyance, as usual, fills his expression. “I should make you run laps around this entire garden ten times for that.”

“But you won’t,” Sapphire counters back. “It was an accident.” I nod toward her in thanks. She tosses another orange into the basket before readjusting. “Anyway, why are you here?”

Sam clears his throat. “Well, you’ll love this news. You know how you said you wanted to study new vegetation awhile back?” Sapphire nods enthusiastically. “Well, you’re in luck. President Adalia has cleared for you, me, my uncle, and a few others at your choice to go.”

Sapphire nearly falls out of the tree, jumping down to the ground and wrapping Sam in the biggest hug I’ve ever seen. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She exclaims, kissing both of his cheeks. “I could just marry you this instant. How ever did you get it through?”

Sam rolls his eyes and smiles at Sapphire, gently shoving her off as I climb down the tree. “I’ve got connections,” He says smoothly. “And President Adalia says you can have someone accompany you. I’ve already chosen Philip as my right-hand man. I trust you’ll make a wise decision.”

“Lucy!” Sapphire says instantly, catching me off guard.

“...Or maybe I shouldn’t have trusted you to make a wise decision,” Sam finishes, making it obvious he doesn't trust me with important tasks. But then it hits me.

“Wait,” I say, entirely clueless. “What does this mean?’’

Sapphire looks at me with bright eyes and a thrilled look on her face. “It means we get to go outside.”


End file.
